I 


;V.'/^»tu;- 


/ 


H^vertlsement 

To  A  Marriage  Under  the  Terrorhas  been  awarded 
m  England  the  first  prize  in  the  Melrose  Novel  G>m- 
petition,  a  competition  that  was  not  restricted  to  first 
stories.  The  distinguished  literary  reputation  of  the 
three  judges — Mrs.  Flora  Annie  Steel,  Miss  Mary 
Cholmondeley,  and  Mrs.  Henry  de  la  Pasture — was 
a  guaranty  alike  to  the  contestants  and  to  the  public 
that  the  story  selected  as  the  winner  would  without 
question  be  hilly  entitled  to  that  distinction.  In  con- 
sequence, many  authors  of  experience  entered  the 
contest,  with  the  result  that  the  number  of  manuscripts 
submitted  was  greater  than  that  in  the  competition 
previously  conducted  by  Mr.  Melrose. 

Among  such  a  number  of  good  stories  individual 
taste  must  always  play  an  important  part  in  the  de- 
cision. It  is,  therefore,  no  small  tribute  to  the  tran- 
scendent interest  of  the  winning  novel  that,  though 
the  judges  worked  independently,  each  selected  A 
Marriage  Under  the  Terror  as  the  most  distinctive 
novel  in  the  group. 


A  Marriage 
Under  the  Terror 


By 
Patricia  Wentworth 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 
New  York  and  London 
Zbc  IkiUcIiecbockei:  presa 

1910 


,  / 


■^'') 


Copyright,  1910 

BY 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

Published,  April,  1910 
Reprinted,  May,  1910 


Vbe  ftnfcfterboclier  preM,  f^ew  Vock 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 
I. 

A  Purloined  Cipher 

PACK 
I 

II. 

A  Forced  Entrance  . 

ID 

III. 

Shut  out  by  a  Prison  Wall 
The  Terror  Let  Loose.     . 

20 

IV. 

.         31 

V. 

A  Carnival  of  Blood 

.       44 

VI. 

A  Doubtful  Safety  . 

.       62 

VII. 

The  Inner  Conflict  . 

.       76 

VIII. 

An  Offer  of  Friendship   . 

.       88 

IX. 

The  Old  Ideal  and  the  New 

.       97 

X. 

The  Fate  of  a  King 

.      106 

XI. 

The  Irrevocable  Vote 

.     120 

XII. 

Separation         .         .         .         . 

.     127 

XIII. 

Disturbing  Insinuations 

143 

XIV. 

A  Dangerous  Acquaintance 

152 

XV. 

Sans  Souci         .... 

174 

XVI. 

An  Unwelcome  Visitor 

187 

XVII. 

Distressing  News      .         .         .         , 

198 

XVIII. 

A  Trial  and  a  Wedding     . 

207 

/i  f\  r^  >*^  d  \  ^~\ 


iv 

Contents 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XIX. 

The  Barrier  .         .    '     . 

.       221 

XX. 

A  Royalist  Plot 

.   232 

XXI. 

A  New  Environment 

.   243 

XXII. 

At  Home  and  Afield 

.    263 

XXIII. 

Return  of  Two  Fugitives 

.   275 

XXIV. 

Burning  of  the  Chateau 

.    298 

XXV. 

Escape  of  Two  Madcaps 

.   312 

XXVI. 

A  Dying  Woman 

.  328 

XXVII. 

Betrayal         .         .         . 

.     335 

XXVIII. 

Inmates  of  the  Prison     . 

.     354 

XXIX 

Through  Darkness  to  Light   , 

.     367 

A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 


A    MARRIAGE    UNDER    THE 
TERROR 


CHAPTER  I 


A  PURLOINED  CIPHER 


IT  was  high  noon  on  a  mid- August  morning  of  the  year 
1792,  but  Jeanne,  the  waiting-maid,  had  only  just 
set  the  coffee  down  on  the  small  table  within  the  ruelle  of 
Mme  de  Montargis*  magnificent  bed.  Great  ladies  did 
not  trouble  themselves  to  rise  too  early  in  those  days, 
and  a  beauty  who  has  been  a  beauty  for  twenty  years  was 
not  more  anxious  then  than  now  to  face  the  unflattering 
freshness  of  the  morning  air.  Laure  de  Montargis  stirred 
in  the  shadow  of  her  brocaded  curtains,  put  out  a  white 
hand  for  the  cup,  sipped  from  it,  murmured  that  the 
coffee  was  cold,  and  pushed  it  from  her  with  a  fretful 
exclamation  that  made  Jeanne  frown  as  she  drew  the 
tan-coloured  curtains  and  let  in  the  mid-day  glare. 
Madame  had  been  up  late,  Madame  had  lost  at  faro,  and 
her  servants  would  have  to  put  up  with  Heaven  alone 
knew  how  many  megrims  in  consequence. 

"Madame   suffers?"   inquired   Jeanne   obsequiously, 
but  with  pursed  lips. 


2  A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

The  lady  closed  lier  eyes.  Laying  her  head  back 
against  the  delicately  embroidered  pillows,  she  indicated 
by  a  gesture  that  her  sufferings  might  be  taken  for 
granted. 

"Madame  has  the  migraine?"  suggested  the  soft, 
rather  false-sounding  voice.  "Madame  will  not  re- 
ceive?" 

"Heavens!  girl,  how  you  pester  me,"  said  the  Mar- 
quise sharply. 

Then,  falling  again  to  a  languid  tone,  "Is  there  any 
one  there?" 

Jeanne  smiled  with  malicious,  averted  face  as  she 
poured  rose-water  from  a  silver  ewer  into  a  Sevres  bowl, 
and  watched  it  rise,  dimpling,  to  the  flower-wreathed 
brim. 

"There  is  M.  le  Vicomte  as  usual,  Madame,  and  Mme 
la  Comtesse  de  Maille,  who,  learning  that  Madame  was 
but  now  awakened,  told  me  that  she  would  wait  whilst 
I  inquired  if  Madame  would  see  her." 
•  "Good  Heavens!  what  an  hour  to  come,"  said  the 
lady,  with  a  peevish  air. 

"Madame  la  Comtesse  seemed  much  moved.  One 
would  say  something  had  occurred,"  said  Jeanne. 

The  Marquise  raised  her  head  sharply. 

" — And  you  stand  chattering  there?  Just  Heaven! 
The  trial  that  it  is  to  have  an  imbecile  about  one! 
The  glass  quickly,  and  the  rouge,  and  the  lace  for  my 
head.  No,  not  that  rouge, — the  new  sort  that  Isidore 
brought  yesterday; — arrange  these  two  curls, — now  a 
little  powder.     Fool!  what  powder  is  this?" 

"  Madame's  own,"  submitted  Jeanne  meekly. 

The  suffering  lady  raised  herself  and  dealt  the  girl  a 
sounding  box  on  the  ^r. 

"Idiot!  did  I  not  tell  you  I  had  tired  of  the  perfume, 


A  Purloined  Cipher  3 

and  that  in  future  the  white  lilac  powder  was  the  only 
one  I  would  use?     Did  I  not  tell  you?" 

"Yes,  Madame" — but  there  was  a  spark  beneath  the 
waiting-maid's  discreetly  dropped  lids. 

The  Marquise  de  Montargis  sat  bolt  upright,  and  con- 
templated her  reflection  in  the  wide  silver  mirror  which 
Jeanne  was  steadying.  Her  passion  had  brought  a 
little  flush  to  her  cheeks,  and  she  noted  approvingly 
that  the  colour  became  her. 

"Put  the  rouge  just  here,  and  here,  Jeanne,"  she 
ordered,  her  anger  subsiding; — then,  with  a  fresh  out- 
burst— "  Imbecile,  not  so  much !  One  does  not  have  the 
complexion  of  a  milkmaid  when  one  is  in  bed  with  the 
migraine;  just  a  shade  here  now,  a  nuance.  That  will 
do;  go  and  bring  them  in." 

She  drew  a  rose-coloured  satin  wrap  about  her,  and 
posed  her  head,  in  its  cloud  of  delicate  lace,  carefully. 
Her  bed  was  as  gorgeous  as  it  well  might  be.  Long 
curtains  of  rosy  brocade  fell  about  it,  and  a  coverlid  of 
finest  needlework,  embroidered  with  bunches  of  red  and 
white  roses  on  a  white  satin  ground,  was  thrown  across 
it.  The  carved  pillars  showed  cupids  pelting  one  another 
with  flowers  plucked  fron  the  garlands  that  wreathed 
their  naked  chubbiness. 

Madame  de  Montargis  herself  had  been  a  beauty  for 
twenty  years,  but  a  life  of  light  pleasures,  and  a  heart 
incapable  of  experiencing  more  than  a  momentary 
emotion  had  combined  to  leave  her  face  as  unlined  and 
almost  as  lovely  as  when  Paris  first  proclaimed  her  its 
reigning  queen  of  beauty. 

She  was  eminently  satisfied  with  her  own  looks  as  she 
turned  languidly  on  her  soft  pillows  to  greet  her  friends. 

Mme  de  Maille  bent  and  embraced  her;  M.  le  Vicomte 
S^lincourt  stooped  and  kissed  her  gracefully  extended 


4  A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

hand.  Jeanne  brought  seats,  and  after  a  few  polite 
inquiries  Mme  de  Maille  plunged  into  her  news. 

"Ma  chere  amie!"  she  exclaimed,  "I  come  to  tell  you 
the  good  news.  My  daughter  and  her  husband  have 
reached  England  in  safety."  Tears  filled  her  soft  blue 
eyes,  and  she  raised  them  to  the  ceiling  with  a  gesture 
that  would  have  been  affected  had  her  emotion  been 
less  evidently  sincere. 

"Ah!  ch^re  Comtesse,  a  thousand  felicitations!" 

"My  dear,  I  have  been  on  thorns,  I  have  not  slept,  I 
have  not  eaten,  I  have  wept  rivers,  I  have  said  more 
prayers  in  a  month  than  my  confessor  has  ever  before 
induced  me  to  say  in  a  year.  First  I  thought  they  would 
be  stopped  at  the  barriers,  and  then — then  I  pictured  to 
myself  a  hundred  misfortunes,  a  thousand  inconven- 
iences! I  saw  my  Adele  ill,  fainting  from  the  fatigues 
of  the  road;  I  imagined  assaults  of  brigands,  shipwrecks, 
storms, — in  short,  everything  of  the  most  unfortunate, — 
ah!  my  dear  friends,  you  do  not  know  what  a  mother 
suffers, — and  now  I  have  the  happiness  of  receiv- 
ing a  letter  from  my  dearest  Adele, — she  is  well; 
she  is  contented.  They  have  been  received  with 
the  greatest  amiability,  and,  my  friends,  I  am  too 
happy." 

"And  your  happiness  is  that  of  your  friends,"  bowed 
the  Vicomte. 

Mme  de  Montargis'  congratulations  were  polite,  if  a 
trifle  perfunctory.  The  convenances  demanded  that 
one  should  simulate  an  interest  in  the  affairs  of  one's 
acquaintances,  but  in  reality,  and  at  this  hour  of  the 
day,  how  they  did  bore  one!  And  Marie  de  Mailld, 
with  her  soft  airs,  and  that  insufferable  Ad^le  of  hers, 
whom  she  had  always  spoilt  so  abominably.  It  was  a 
little  too  much!    One  had  affairs  of  one's  own.     With 


A  Purloined  Cipher  5 

the  fretful  expression  of  half  an  hour  before  she  drew 
a  letter  from  beneath  her  pillow. 

"I  too  have  news  to  impart,"  she  said,  with  rather  a 
pinched  smile.  "News  that  concerns  you  very  closely, 
M.  le  Vicomte,"  and  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  S^lincourt. 

"That  concerns  me?" 

"But  yes.  Monsieur,  since  what  concerns  Mademoi- 
selle your  betrothed  must  concern  you,  and  closely,  as  I 
said." 

"  Mademoiselle  my  betrothed,  Mile  de  Rochambeau!" 
he  cried  quickly.     "Is  she  then  ill?" 

Mme  de  Montargis  smiled  maliciously. 

"Hark  to  the  anxious  lover!  But  calm  yourself,  my 
friend,  she  is  certainly  not  ill,  or  she  would  not  now  be 
on  her  way  to  Paris." 

"To  Paris?" 

"That,  Monsieur,  is,  I  believe,  her  destination." 

"What?  She  is  coming  to  Paris  now?"  inquired 
Mme  de  MailM  with  concern. 

The  Marquise  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"It  is  very  inconvenient,  but  what  would  you?"  she 
said  lightly ;  "  as  you  know,  dear  friend,  she  was  betrothed 
to  M.  le  Vicomte  when  she  was  a  child.  Then  my  good 
cousin,  the  Comte  de  Rochambeau,  takes  it  into  his 
virtuous  head  that  this  world,  even  in  his  rural  retreat, 
is  no  longer  good  enough  for  him,  and  follows  Madame, 
his  equally  virtuous  wife,  to  Paradise,  where  they  are  no 
doubt  extremely  happy.  Until  yesterday  I  pictured 
Mademoiselle  almost  as  saintly  and  contented  with  the 
holy  Sisters  of  the  Grace  Dieu  Convent,  who  have  looked 
after  her  for  the  last  ten  years  or  so.  Then  comes  this 
letter;  it  seems  there  have  been  riots,  a  chateau  burned, 
an  intendant  or  two  murdered,  and  the  good  nuns  take 
advantage  of  the  fact  that  the  steward  of  Rochambeau 


6  A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

and  his  wife  are  making  a  journey  to  Paris  to  confide 
Mademoiselle  to  their  care,  and  mine.  It  seems,"  she 
concluded,  with  a  little  laugh,  "that  they  think  Paris  is 
safe,  these  good  nuns." 

"Poor  child,  poor  child!"  exclaimed  Mme  de  Maill6 
in  a  distressed  voice;  "can  you  not  stop  her,  turn  her 
back?" 

The  Marquise  laughed  again. 

"Dear  friend,  she  is  probably  arriving  at  this  minute. 
The  Sisters  are  women  of  energy." 

"At  least  M.  de  Selincourt  is  to  be  congratulated," 
said  Mme  de  Maille  after  a  pause;  "that  is  if  Madem- 
oiselle resembles  her  parents.  I  remember  her  mother 
very  well, — how  charming,  how  spirituelle,  how  amiable ! 
I  knew  her  for  only  too  short  a  time,  and  yet,  looking 
back,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  never  had  a  friend  I  valued 
more." 

"My  cousin  De  Rochambeau  was  crazy  about  her," 
reflected  Mme  de  Montargis;  "he  might  have  married 
anybody,  and  he  chose  an  Irish  girl  without  a  sou. 
It  was  the  talk  of  Paris  at  the  time.  He  was  the  hand- 
somest man  at  Court." 

"And  Aileen  Desmond  the  loveliest  girl,"  put  in 
Mme  de  Maill6  thoughtlessly;  then,  observing  her  hos- 
tess's change  of  expression,  she  coloured,  but  continued 
—  "They  were  not  so  badly  matched,  and,"  with  a  little 
sigh,  "they  were  very  happy.     It  was  a  real  romance." 

Mme  de  Montargis'  eyes  flashed.  Twenty  years  ago 
beautiful  Aileen  Desmond  had  been  her  rival  at  Court. 
Now  that  for  quite  a  dozen  years  gossip  had  coupled  her 
name  with  that  of  the  Vicomte  de  Selincourt,  was  Aileen 
Desmond's  daughter  to  take  her  mother's  place  in  that 
bygone  rivalry? 

Mme  de  Maill^,  catching  her  glance,  wondered  how  it 


A  Purloined  Cipher  7 

would  fare  with  any  defenceless  girl  who  came  between 
Laure  de  Montargis  and  her  lover.  She  was  still  won- 
dering whilst  she  made  her  farewells. 

When  M.  le  Vicomte  had  bowed  her  out  he  came 
moodily  back  to  his  place. 

"It  is  very  inconvenient,  Madame,"  he  said  pettishly. 

''You  say  so,"  returned  the  lady. 

''Pardon,  Madame,  it  was  you  who  said  so." 

The  Marquise  laughed.     It  was  not  a  pleasant  laugh. 

"Of  course  it  was  I,"  she  cried.  "Who  else?  It  is 
hardly  likely  that  M.  le  Vicomte  finds  a  rich  bride 
inconvenient." 

Selincourt's  face  changed  a  little,  but  he  waved  the 
words  away. 

"Mademoiselle  is  nothing  to  me,"  he  asserted. 
"Ch^re  amie,  do  you  suspect,  do  you  doubt  the  faithful 
heart  which  for  years  has  beaten  only  for  one  beloved 
object?" 

The  lady  pouted,  but  her  eyes  ceased  to  sparkle. 

"And  that  object?"  she  inquired,  with  a  practised 
glance. 

"Angel  of  my  life — need  you  ask?" 

It  was  indeed  unnecessary,  since  a  very  short  acquaint- 
ance with  this  fervid  lover  was  sufficient  to  assure  any 
one  that  his  devotion  to  himself  was  indeed  his  ruling 
and  unalterable  passion;  perhaps  the  Marquise  was 
aware  of  this,  and  was  content  to  take  the  second,  but 
not  the  third  place,  in  his  affections.  She  looked  at 
him  coquettishly. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "you  mean  it  now,  now  perhaps, 
Monsieur,  but  when  she  comes,  when  you  are  married?" 

"Eh,  ma  foi,"  and  the  Vicomte  waved  away  his  pro- 
spective marriage  vows  as  lightly  as  if  they  were  thistle- 
down, "one  does  not  marry  for  love;  the  heart  must  be 


8  A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

free,  not  bound, — and  where  will  the  free  heart  turn 
except  to  the  magnet  that  has  drawn  it  for  so  long?  " 

Madame  extended  a  white,  languid  hand,  and  Mon- 
sieur kissed  it  with  more  elegance  than  fervour.  As  he 
was  raising  his  head  she  whispered  sharply : 

"The  new  cipher,  have  you  got  it?" 

He  bent  lower,  and  kissed  the  fair  hand  again, 
lingeringly. 

"It  is  here,  and  I  have  drafted  the  letter  we  spoke  of; 
it  must  go  this  week." 

"The  Queen  is  well?" 

"Well,  but  impatient  for  news.  There  is  an  Austrian 
medicine  that  she  longs  for." 

"Chut!    Enough,  one  is  never  safe." 

"Adieu,  then,  m'amie." 

"Adieu,  M.  le  Vicomte." 

Monsieur  took  his  leave  with  an  exquisite  bow,  and 
all  the  forms  that  elegance  prescribed,  and  Madame  lay 
back  against  her  pillows  with  closed  eyes,  and  the  frown 
which  she  never  permitted  to  appear  in  society.  Jeanne 
threw  a  sharp  glance  at  her  as  she  returned  from  closing 
the  door  upon  Selincourt.  Her  ears  had  made  her  aware 
of  whispering,  and  now  her  eyes  showed  her  a  small 
crumpled  scrap  of  paper,  just  inside  the  ruelle  of 
Madame's  bed.  A  love-letter?  Perhaps,  or  perhaps 
not.  In  any  case  the  correspondence  of  the  mistress  is 
the  perquisite  of  the  maid,  and  as  Jeanne  came  softly 
to  the  bedside  she  covered  the  little  twisted  note  with 
a  dexterous  foot,  and,  bending  to  adjust  the  rose- 
embroidered  coverlid,  secured  and  hid  her  prize.  In  a 
moment  she  had  passed  behind  the  heavy  curtains  and 
was  scanning  it  with  a  practised  eye — an  eye  that  saw 
more  than  the  innocent-seeming  figures  with  which  the 
white   paper   was   dotted.     Jeanne   had   seen   ciphers 


A  Purloined  Cipher  9 

before,  and  a  glance  sufficed  to  show  her  the  nature  of 
this  one,  for  at  the  foot  of  the  draft  was  a  row  of  signs 
and  figures,  mysterious  no  longer  in  the  light  of  the  key 
that  stood  beneath  them.  Apparently  Jeanne  knew 
something  about  secret  correspondence  too,  for  there  in 
the  shadow  behind  the  curtain  she  nodded  and  smiled, 
and  once  even  shook  her  fist  towards  the  unconscious 
Marquise.  Next  moment  she  was  again  in  evidence, 
and  but  for  that  paper  tucked  away  inside  her  bodice  she 
would  have  found  her  morning  a  hard  one.  Madame 
wished  this,  Madame  wished  that;  Madame  would  have 
her  forehead  bathed,  her  feet  rubbed,  a  thousand  whims 
complied  with  and  a  thousand  fancies  gratified.  Soft- 
voiced  and  deft,  Jeanne  moved  incessantly  to  and  fro  on 
those  small,  neatly-shod  feet,  which  she  sometimes  com- 
pared not  uncomplacently  with  those  of  her  mistress, 
until,  at  last,  at  the  latter  end  of  all  conceivable  fancies 
there  came  one  for  repose, — the  rosy  curtains  were 
drawn,  and  Jeanne  was  free. 

Half  an  hour  later  a  deftly-cloaked  figure  stood  before 
a  table  at  which  a  dark-faced  man  wrote  busily — a  paper 
was  handed  over,  a  password  asked  and  given. 

"Is  it  enough  now?"  asked  Jeanne  the  waiting-maid. 
And  the  dark-faced  man  answered,  without  looking  up, 
"  It  is  enough — the  cup  is  full." 


CHAPTER  II 

A    FORCED   ENTRANCE 

MADEMOISELLE  DE  ROCHAMBEAU  had  been 
a  week  in  Paris,  but  as  yet  she  had  tasted  none 
of  its  gaieties — for  gaieties  there  were  still,  even  in  these 
clouding  days  when  the  wind  of  destiny  blew  up  the 
storm  of  the  Terror.  The  King  and  Queen  were  prison- 
ers in  the  Temple,  many  of  the  noblesse  had  emigrated, 
but  what  remained  of  the  Court  circles  still  met  and 
talked,  laughed,  gamed,  and  flirted,  as  if  there  were  no 
deluge  to  come.  To-day  Mme  de  Montargis  received, 
and  Mile  de  Rochambeau,  dressed  by  a  Parisian  milliner 
for  the  first  time,  was  to  be  presented  to  her  cousin's 
friends. 

She  had  not  even  seen  her  betrothed  as  yet, — that 
dim  figure  which  she  had  contemplated  for  so  many 
years  of  cloistered  monotony,  until  it  had  become  the 
model  upon  which  her  dreams  and  hopes  were  hung. 
Now  that  the  opening  of  the  door  might  at  any  moment 
reveal  him  in  the  flesh,  the  dreams  wore  suddenly  thin, 
and  she  was  conscious  of  an  overpowering  suspense. 
She  hoped  for  so  much,  and  all  at  once  she  was  afraid. 
Husbands,  to  be  sure,  were  not  romantic,  not  the  least 
in  the  world,  and,  according  to  the  nuns,  it  would  be  the 
height  of  impropriety  to  wish  that  they  should  be. 
One  married  because  it  was  the  convenable  thing  to  do, 


A  Forced  Entrance  n 

but  to  fall  in  love, — fi  done,  Mademoiselle,  the  idea! 
Aline  laughed,  for  she  remembered  Sister  Seraphine's 
face,  all  soft  and  shocked  and  wrinkled,  and  then  in  a 
minute  she  was  grave  again.  Dreams  may  be  forbidden, 
but  when  one  is  nineteen  they  have  a  way  of  recurring, 
and  it  is  certain  that  Mile  de  Rochambeau's  heart  beat 
faster  than  Sister  S^raphine  would  have  approved,  as 
she  stood  by  Mme  de  Montargis'  gilded  chair  and 
heard  the  servant  announce  "M.  le  Vicomte  de 
Selincourt." 

He  kissed  Madame's  hand;  and  then  hers.  A  sensa- 
tion that  was  almost  terror  caught  the  colour  from  her 
face.  Was  this  little,  dark,  bowing  fop  the  dream  hero? 
His  eyes  were  like  a  squirrel's — black,  restless,  shallow 
— and  his  mouth  displeased  her.  Something  about  its 
puckered  outline  made  her  recoil  from  the  touch  of  it 
upon  her  hand,  and  the  Marquise,  glancing  at  her,  saw 
all  the  young  face  pale  and  distressed.  She  smiled 
maliciously,  and  reflected  on  the  folly  of  youth  and  the 
kind  connivance  of  Fate. 

S^lincourt,  for  his  part,  was  well  enough  satisfied. 
Mademoiselle  was  too  tall  for  his  taste,  it  was  true ;  her 
beautifully  shaped  shoulders  and  bust  too  thin;  but  of 
those  dark  grey  Irish  eyes  there  could  be  no  two  opinions, 
and  his  quick  glance  approved  her  on  the  whole.  She 
would  play  her  part  as  Mme  la  Vicomtesse  very  credit- 
ably when  a  little  modish  polish  had  softened  her  convent 
stateliness,  and  for  the  rest  he  had  no  notion  of  being  in 
love  with  his  bride.  It  was  long,  in  fact,  since  his  small, 
jaded  heart  had  beaten  the  faster  for  any  woman,  and  his 
eyes  left  her  face  with  a  genuine  indifference  which  did 
not  escape  either  woman. 

"Mademoiselle,  I  felicitate  Paris,  and  myself,"  he 
said,  with  a  formal  bow.     Mademoiselle  made  him  a 


12         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

stately  reverence,  and  the  long-dreamed-of  meeting  was 
over. 

He  turned  at  once  to  her  cousin. 

"You  have  written  to  our  friend,  Madame?" 

"I  wrote  immediately,  M.  le  Vicomte." 

He  lowered  his  voice. 

"The  paper  with  the  cipher  on  it,  did  I  give  you  my 
copy  as  well  as  your  own?" 

"But  no,  mon  ami.     Why,  have  you  not  got  it? " 

Selincourt  raised  his  shoulders. 

"  Certainly  not,  since  I  ask  if  you  have  it,"  he  returned. 

Madame's  delicate  chin  lifted  a  little. 

"And  when  did  you  find  this  out?  "  she  asked. 

"I  had  no  occasion  to  use  the  code  until  yesterday, 
and  then  ..."  the  lift  of  his  shoulders  merged  into  a 
decided  shrug. 

The  Marquise  turned  away  with  a  slight  frown.  It 
was  annoying,  but  then  the  Vicomte  was  always  careless, 
and  no  doubt  the  paper  would  be  found;  it  must  be 
somewhere,  and  her  guests  were  assembling. 

Of  such  stuff  were  the  conspirators  of  those  days, — 
trifiers,  fops,  and  flirts;  men  who  mislaid  the  papers 
which  meant  life  and  death  to  them  and  to  a  hundred 
more;  women  who  chattered  secrets  in  the  hearing  of 
their  lackeys  and  serving-maids,  unable  to  realise  that 
these  were  listeners  more  dangerous  than  the  chairs  and 
tables  of  their  gaily  furnished  salons.  What  wonder  that 
of  all  the  aristocratic  plots  and  counterplots  of  the 
Revolution  there  was  not  one  but  perished  immature? 
Powdered  nobles  and  painted  dames,  they  played  at 
conspiracy  as  they  played  at  love  and  hate,  played 
with  gilded  counters  instead  of  sterling  gold,  and  in  the 
end  they  paid  the  reckoning  in  blood. 

Meanwhile  Madame  received. 


A  Forced  Entrance  13 

The  gay,  softly  lighted  salon  filled  apace.  Day  was 
still  warm  outside,  but  the  curtains  were  drawn,  and 
clusters  of  wax  candles,  set  in  glittering  chandeliers, 
threw  their  becoming  light  upon  the  bare  shoulders  of 
the  ladies  and  lent  the  rouge  a  mor-e  natural  air. 

Play  was  the  order  of  the  day,  the  one  real  passion 
which  held  that  world.  Life  and  death  were  trifles, 
birth  and  marriage  a  jest,  love  and  hate  the  flicker  of 
shadow  and  sunshine  over  shallow  waters;  but  the 
gambler  could  still  feel  joy  of  gain  or  rage  of  loss,  and 
the  faro  table  demanded  an  earnestness  which  religion 
was  powerless  to  evoke.  Mile  de  Rochambeau  stood 
behind  her  cousin's  chair.  The  scene  fascinated,  inter- 
ested, excited  her.  The  swiftly  passing  cards,  the  heaps 
of  gold,  the  flushed  faces,  the  half-checked  ejaculations, 
all  drew  and  enchained  her  attention;  for  this  was  the 
great  world,  and  these  her  future  friends. 

At  first  the  game  itself  was  a  mystery,  but  by  degrees 
her  quick  wits  grasped  the  principle,  and  she  watched 
with  a  breathless  interest.  Madame  de  Montargis  won 
and  won.  As  the  rouleaux  of  gold  grew  beside  her,  she 
slid  them  into  an  embroidered  bag,  where  her  monogram 
shone  in  pearls  and  silver  and  was  wreathed  by  clustering 
forget-me-nots. 

Now  she  was  not  in  such  good  luck.  She  knit  her 
brows,  set  her  teeth  into  the  full  lower  lip,  pouted  omi- 
nously,— and  cheated.  Quite  distinctly  Mademoiselle 
saw  her  change  a  card,  and  play  on  smilingly,  as  the 
change  brought  fickle  fortune  to  her  side  once  more. 
Aline  de  Rochambeau's  hand  went  up  to  her  throat  with 
a  nervous  gesture.  She  wore  around  it  a  single  string 
of  pearls — milk-white,  and  of  great  value.  In  her  sur- 
prise and  agitation  she  caught  sharply  at  the  necklet, 
and  in  a  moment  the  thread  snapped,  and  the  pearls 


14         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

rolled  here  and  there  over  the  polished  floor.  Aileen 
Desmond  had  worn  them  last,  a  dozen  years  before,  and 
the  silken  string  had  had  time  to  rot  since  then. 

The  players  took  no  notice,  but  Mademoiselle  de 
Rochambeau  gave  a  soft  little  cry  and  went  down  on  her 
knees  to  pick  up  her  pearls.  The  greater  number  were 
to  her  hand,  but  a  few  had  rolled  away  to  the  corner  of 
the  room.  Mademoiselle  put  what  she  had  picked  up 
into  her  muslin  handkerchief,  and  slipped  it  into  her 
bosom.  Then  she  went  timidly  forward,  casting  her 
looks  here,  there,  and  everywhere  in  search  of  the  three 
pearls  which  she  still  missed.  She  found  one  under  the 
fold  of  a  heavy  curtain,  and  as  she  bent  to  pick  it  up  she 
heard  voices  in  the  alcove  it  screened,  and  caught  her 
own  name. 

"The  little  Rochambeau" — just  like  that. 

It  was  a  woman's  voice,  very  clear,  and  a  little  shrill, 
and  then  a  man  said: 

"She  is  not  bad — she  has  eyes,  and  a  fine  shape,  and 
a  delicate  skin.  Laure  de  Montargis  will  be  green  with 
jealousy." 

The  woman  laughed,  a  high,  tinkling  laugh,  like  the 
trill  of  a  guitar. 

"The  faithful  S61incourt  will  be  straining  at  his  leash," 
pursued  the  same  voice.  " It  is  time  he  ranged  himself; 
and,  after  all,  he  has  given  her  twelve  years." 

Another  ripple  of  laughter. 

"What  a  gift!  Heaven  protect  me  from  the  like. 
He  is  tedious  enough  for  an  hour,  and  twelve  years! — 
that  poor  Laure ! " 

"Ch^re  Duchesse,  she  has  permitted  herself  distrac- 
tions.' '  Here  the  voice  dropped,  but  Aline  caught  names 
and  shuddered.  She  rose,  bewildered  and  confused,  and 
as  she  crossed  the  room  and  took  her  station  near  Madame 


A  Forced  Entrance  15 

again,  her  eyes  looked  very  dark  amidst  the  pallour 
of  her  face.  The  hand  that  knotted  the  fine  handker- 
chief over  the  last  of  her  pearls  shook  more  than  a  little, 
and  at  a  sudden  glance  of  Sdincourt's  she  looked  down, 
trembling  in  every  limb.  M.  de  Selincourt,  her  be- 
trothed, and  Laure  de  Montargis,  her  cousin, — ^lovers. 
But  Laure  was  married.  M.  de  Montargis  was  with 
the  Princes, — his  wife  had  spoken  of  him  only  that  day. 
Oh,  kind  saints,  what  wickedness  was  this? 

Aline's  brain  was  in  a  whirl,  but  through  her  shocked 
bewilderment  emerged  a  very  definite  horror  of  the 
sallow-faced,  shifty-eyed  gentleman  whom  she  had  been 
taught  to  regard  as  her  future  husband.  She  shuddered 
when  she  remembered  that  he  had  kissed  her  hand,  and 
furtively  she  rubbed  the  place,  as  if  to  efface  a  stain.  If 
she  had  been  less  taken  up  with  her  own  thoughts,  she 
would  have  noticed  that  whereas  the  room  appeared  to 
have  grown  curiously  quiet,  there  was  a  strange  sound  of 
trampling,  and  a  confused  buzz  of  speech  outside. 
Suddenly,  however,  the  door  was  burst  open,  and  a 
frightened  lackey  ran  in,  followed  by  another  and 
another. 

"Madame — a  Commissioner — and  a  Guard — oh,  Ma- 
dame!" stammered  one  and  another. 

Mme  de  Montargis  raised  her  arched  eyebrows  and 
stared  at  the  foremost  man  in  displeased  silence.  He 
fell  back  muttering  incoherently,  and  she  turned  her 
attention  to  the  game  once  more.  But  her  guests 
hesitated,  and  ceased  to  play,  for  behind  the  lackey 
came  a  little  procession  of  three,  and  with  it  some  of  the 
desperate  reality  of  life  seemed  to  enter  that  salon  of  the 
artificial.  A  Commissioner  of  the  Commune  walked 
first,  with  broad  tri-coloured  sash  above  an  attire 
sufficiently  rough  and  disordered  to  bear  witness  to  his 


1 6         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

ardent  patriotism.  His  lank  black  hair  hung  unpow- 
dered  to  his  shoulders,  and  his  fat,  sallow  face  wore  an 
expression  of  mingled  dislike  and  complacency.  He 
was  followed  by  two  blue-coated  National  Guards, 
who  looked  curiously  about  them  and  smelled  horribly 
of.  garlic. 

Madame's  gaze  dwelt  on  them  with  a  surprised  re- 
sentment that  did  not  at  all  distinguish  between  the 
officer  and  his  subordinates. 

"Messieurs,  this  intrusion — "  she  began,  and  on  the 
instant  the  Commissioner  was  by  her  side. 

"Ci-devant  Marquise  de  Montargis,  you  are  my 
prisoner,"  and  rough  as  his  voice  came  his  hand  upon 
her  shoulder.  With  a  fashionable  oath  S^lincourt  drew 
his  sword,  and  a  woman  screamed. 

("It  was  the  La  Riviere,"  said  Mme  de  Montargis 
afterwards.     "I  always  knew  she  had  no  breeding.") 

M.  le  Commissionaire  had  a  fine  dramatic  sense.  He 
experienced  a  most  pleasing  conviction  of  being  in  his 
element  as  he  signed  to  the  nearest  of  his  underlings, 
and  the  man,  without  a  word,  drew  back  the  heavy 
crimson  curtains  which  screened  the  window  towards 
the  street. 

The  afternoon  sun  poured  in,  turning  the  candle-light 
to  a  cheap  tawdry  yellow,  and  with  it  came  a  sound 
which  I  suppose  no  one  has  yet  heard  unmoved — the 
voice  of  an  angry  crowd.  Oaths  flew,  foul  words  rose, 
and  above  the  din  sounded  a  shrill  scream  of —  "The 
Austrian  spy,  bring  out  the  Austrian  spy!"  and  with  a 
roar  the  crowd  took  up  the  word,  "To  the  lantern,  to  the 
lantern,  to  the  lantern!" 

There  was  no  uncertainty  about  that  voice,  and  at 
that,  and  the  Commissioner's  meaning  gesture,  Selin- 
court's  sword-arm  dropped  to  his  side  again.    If  Madame 


4 


A  Forced  Entrance  17 

turned  pale  her  rouge  hid  it,  and  her  manner  continued 
calm  to  the  verge  of  indifference.  When  the  shouting 
outside  had  died  down  a  little  she  turned  politely  to  the 
man  beside  her. 

"Monsieur,  your  hand  incommodes  me;  if  you  would 
have  the  kindness  to  remove  it";  and  under  her  eye, 
and  the  faint,  stinging  sarcasm  which  flavoured  its  glance, 
he  coloured  heavily  and  withdrew  a  pace.  Then  he 
produced  a  paper,  drawing  from  its  rustling  folds  fresh 
confidence  and  a  return  to  his  official  bearing. 

"The  ci-devant  Vicomte  de  Selincourt,"  he  said  in 
loud,  harsh  tones;  and,  as  Sdlincourt  made  a  movement, 
"You,  too,  are  arrested." 

"But  this  is  an  outrage,"  stammered  the  Vicomte, 
"an  outrage,  fellow,  for  which  you  shall  suffer.  On 
what  charge — by  what  authority?" 

The  man  shrugged  fat  shoulders  across  which  lay  the 
tri-colour  scarf. 

"Charge  of  treasonable  correspondence  with  Austria," 
he  said  shortly;  "and  as  to  authority,  I  am  the  Com- 
mune's delegate.  But,  ma  foi,  Citizen,  there  is  authority 
for  you  if  you  don't  like  mine,"  and,  with  a  gesture 
which  he  admired  a  good  deal,  he  waved  an  arm  towards 
the  street,  where  the  clamour  raged  unchecked.  As  he 
spoke  a  stone  came  flying  through  the  glass,  and  a  sharp 
splinter  struck  Selincourt  upon  the  cheek,  drawing  blood, 
and  an  oath. 

"You  had  best  come  with  me  before  those  outside 
break  in  to  ask  why  we  delay,"  said  the  delegate 
meaningly. 

Madame  de  Montargis  surveyed  her  guests.  She  was 
too  well-bred  to  smile  at  their  dismay,  but  something 
of  amusement,  and  something  of  scorn,  lurked  in  her 
hazel  eyes.     Then,  with  her  usual  slow  grace,  she  took 


1 8         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

S^lincourt's  arm,  and  walked  towards  the  door,  smiling, 
nodding,  curtsying,  speaking  here  a  few  words  and 
there  a  mere  farewell,  whilst  the  Commissioner  followed 
awkwardly,  spitting  now  and  then  to  relieve  his  embar- 
rassment, and  decidedly  of  the  opinion  that  these  aris- 
tocrats built  rooms  far  too  long. 

"Chere  Ad^le,  't  is  au  revoir." 

"  Marquise,  I  cannot  express  my  regrets." 

"Nay,  Duchesse,  mine  is  the  discourtesy,  though  a 
most  unintentional  one.  I  must  rely  upon  the  kindness 
of  my  friends  to  forgive  it  me." 

Aline  de  Rochambeau  walked  after  her  cousin,  but 
participated  in  none  of  the  farewells.  She  felt  cold 
and  very  bewildered;  her  only  instinct  to  keep  close  to 
the  one  protector  she  knew.  To  stay  behind  never 
occurred  to  her.  In  the  vestibule  Madame  de  Mont- 
argis  paused. 

"Dupont!"  she  called  sharply,  and  the  stout  major- 
domo  of  the  establishment  emerged  from  a  group  of 
frightened  servants. 

"Madame — "  Dupont's  knees  were  shaking,  but  he 
contrived  a  presentable  bow. 

Madame's  eyes  had  lost  their  sniile,  but  the  scorn 
remained.     She  spoke  aloud. 

"  Discharge  those  three  fools  who  ran  in  just  now,  and 
see  that  in  future  I  have  lackeys  who  know  their  place," 
and  with  that  she  walked  on  again.  All  the  way  down 
the  grand  staircase  the  noise  of  the  mob  pursued  them. 
In  the  vestibule  more  of  the  Guard  waited  with  an 
officer,  and  yet  another  Commissioner.  The  three  men 
in  authority  conferred  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  Com- 
missioners hurried  their  prisoners  to  a  side  door  where 
a  fiacre  stood  waiting.  They  passed  out,  and  behind 
them  the  door  was  shut  and  locked.     Then,  for  the  first 


A  Forced  Entrance  19 

time,  Madame  seemed  to  be  aware  of  her  cousin's 
presence. 

"Aline — little  fool! — go  back — but  on  the  instant — " 

"  Ma  cousine " 

"Go  back,  I  say.  Mon  Dieu,  Mademoiselle,  what 
folly!" 

The  girl  put  her  hand  on  the  door,  tried  it,  and  said, 
in  a  low,  shaking  voice : 

"But  it  is  locked " 

"Decidedly,  since  those  were  my  orders,"  growled 
the  second  Commissioner.  "What's  all  this  to-do? 
Who  's  this,  Renard?     Send  her  back." 

"But  I  ask  you  how?"  demanded  Renard,  "since  the 
door  is  locked  inside,  and —  Heavens,  man,  they  are 
coming  this  way ! " 

Lenoir  uttered  an  imprecation. 

"Here,  get  in,  get  in!"  he  shouted,  pushing  the  girl 
as  he  spoke.  "It  is  the  less  matter  since  the  house  and 
all  effects  are  to  be  sealed  up.  Get  in,  I  say,  or  the  mob 
will  be  down  on  us ! " 

Madame  gave  him  a  furious  glance,  and  took  her  seat 
beside  her  trembling  cousin.  S^lincourt  and  Renard 
followed.  Lenoir  swung  himself  to  the  box-seat,  and  the 
fiacre  drove  off  noisily,  the  sound  of  its  wheels  on  the 
rough  cobble-stones  drowning  by  degrees  the  lessening 
outcries  of  the  furious  crowd  behind. 


CHAPTER    III 

SHUT  OUT  BY  A  PRISON  WALL 

THE  fiacre  drew  up  at  the  gate  of  La  Force.  M.  le 
Vicomte  de  Selincourt  got  down,  bowed  politely, 
and  assisted  Madame  de  Montargis  to  alight.  He  then 
gave  his  hand  to  her  cousin,  and  the  little  party  en- 
tered the  prison.  Mme  la  Marquise  walked  delicately, 
with  an  exaggeration  of  that  graceful,  mincing  step  which 
was  considered  so  elegant  by  her  admirers.  She  fanned 
herself,  and  raised  a  scented  pomander  ball  to  her  nostrils. 

"  Fi  done !  What  an  air ! "  she  observed  with  petulant 
disgust. 

Renard  of  the  dramatic  soul  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
It  was  vexing  not  to  be  ready  with  a  biting  repartee, 
but  he  was  consoled  by  the  conviction  that  a  gesture 
from  him  was  worth  more  than  many  words  from  some 
lesser  soul.  His  colleague  Lenoir — a  rough,  coarse- 
faced  hulk — scowled  fiercely,  and  growled  out: 

"Eh,  Mme  I'Aristocrate,  it  has  been  a  good  enough 
air  for  many  a  poor  devil  of  a  patriot,  as  the  citizen 
gaoler  here  can  tell  you,  and  turn  and  turn  about 's  fair 
play.''  And  with  that  he  spat  contemptuously  in 
Madame's  path,  and  scowled  again  as  she  lifted  her 
dainty  petticoats  a  trifle  higher  but  crossed  the  inner 
threshold  without  so  much  as  a  glance  in  his  direction. 

Bault,  the  head  gaoler  of  La  Force,  motioned  the 


Shut  Out  by  a  Prison  Wall  21 

prisoners  into  a  dull  room,  used  at  this  time  as  an  office, 
but  devoted  at  a  later  date  to  a  more  sinister  purpose, 
for  it  was  here  in  days  to  come — days  whose  shadow 
already  rested  palpably  upon  the  thick  air — that  the 
hair  of  the  condemned  was  cut,  and  their  arms  pinioned 
for  the  last  fatal  journey  which  ended  in  the  embraces 
of  Mme  Guillotine. 

Bault  opened  the  great  register  with  a  clap  of  the 
leaves  that  betokened  impatience.  He  was  a  nervous 
man,  and  the  times  frightened  him;  he  slept  ill  at  nights, 
and  was  irritable  enough  by  day. 

"Your  names?"  he  demanded  abruptly. 

Mme  de  Montargis  drew  herself  up  and  raised  her 
arched  eyebrows,  slightly,  but  quite  perceptibly. 

"I  am  the  Marquise  de  Montargis,  my  good  fellow," 
she  observed,  with  something  of  indulgence  in  her  tone. 

"First  name,  or  names?"  pursued  Citizen  Bault,  un- 
moved. 

"  Laure  Marie  Jos^phe." 

"And  you?  "  turning  without  ceremony  to  the  Vicomte. 

"Jean  Christophe  de  Sdlincourt,  at  your  service, 
Monsieur.  Quelle  comedie!"  he  added,  turning  to  Mme 
de  Montargis,  who  permitted  a  slight,  insolent  smile 
to  lift  her  vermilion  upper  lip.  Meanwhile  the  Com- 
missioners were  handing  over  their  papers. 

"Quite  correct.  Citizens."  Then,  with  a  glance 
around,  "But  what  of  this  demoiselle?  There  is  no 
mention  of  her  that  I  can  see." 

Lenoir  laughed  and  swore. 

"Eh,"  he  said,  "she  was  all  for  coming,  and  I  dare 
say  a  whiff  of  the  prison  air,  which  the  old  Citoyenne 
found  so  trying,  will  do  her  no  harm." 

Bault  shook  a  doubtful  head,  and  Renard  threw  him- 
self with  zeal  into  the  role  of  patriot,  animated  at  once 


2  2         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

by  devotion  to  the  principles  of  liberty,  and  loyalty  to 
law  and  order. 

"No,  no,  Lenoir;  no,  no,  my  friend.  Everything 
must  be  done  in  order.  The  Citoyenne  sees  now  what 
comes  of  treason  and  plots.  Let  her  be  warned  in  time, 
or  she  will  be  coming  back  for  good.  For  this  time  there 
is  no  accusation  against  her." 

He  spoke  loudly,  hand  in  vest,  and  felt  himself  every 
inch  a  Roman;  but  his  magniloquence  was  entirely  lost 
on  Mademoiselle,  for,  with  a  cry  of  dismay,  she  caught 
her  cousin's  hand. 

"Oh,  Messieurs,  let  me  stop!  Madame  is  my  guard- 
ian, my  place  is  with  her!" 

Mme  de  Montargis  looked  surprised,  but  she  inter- 
rupted the  girl  with  energy. 

"Silence  then,  Aline!  What  should  a  young  girl  do 
in  La  Force?  Fi  done.  Mademoiselle!" — as  the  soft, 
distressed  murmur  threatened  to  break  out  again, — 
"you  will  do  as  I  tell  you.  Mme  de  Maille  will  receive 
you;  go  straight  to  her  at  the  Hotel  de  Maille.  Present 
my  apologies  for  not  writing  to  her,  and " 

"Sacrebleu!"  thundered  Lenoir  furiously,  "this  is  not 
Versailles,  where  a  pack  of  wanton  women  may  chatter 
themselves  hoarse.  Send  the  young  one  packing,  Bault, 
and  lock  these  people  up.  Are  the  Deputies  of  the 
Commune  to  stand  here  till  nightfall  listening  to  a  pair 
of  magpies?  Silence,  I  say,  and  march!  The  old 
woman  and  the  young  one,  both  of  you  march, 
march!" 

He  laid  a  large  dirty  hand  on  Mile  de  Rochambeau's 
shoulder  as  he  spoke,  and  pushed  her  towards  the  door. 
As  she  passed  through  it  she  saw  her  cousin  delicately 
accepting  M.  de  S^lincourt's  proffered  arm,  whilst  her 
left  hand,  flashing  with  its  array  of  rings,  still  held  the 


Shut  Out  by  a  Prison  Wall  23 

sweet  pomander  to  her  face.  Next  moment  she  was  in 
the  street. 

Her  first  thought  was  for  the  fiacre  which  had  con- 
veyed them  to  the  prison,  but  to  her  despair  it  had  dis- 
appeared, and  there  was  no  other  vehicle  in  sight. 

As  she  stood  in  hesitating  bewilderment,  she  was  aware 
of  the  sound  of  approaching  wheels,  and  looking  up  she 
saw  three  carriages  coming,  one  behind  the  other,  at  a 
brisk  pace.  There  were  three  priests  in  the  first,  one 
of  them  so  old  that  all  the  solicitous  assistance  of  the 
two  younger  men  was  required  to  get  him  safely  down 
the  high  step  and  through  the  gate.  In  the  second  were 
two  ladies,  whose  faces  seemed  vaguely  familiar.  Was 
it  a  year  or  only  an  hour  ago  that  they  had  laughed  and 
jested  at  Mme  de  Montargis'  brilliant  gathering?  They 
looked  at  her  in  the  same  half  uncomprehending  manner, 
and  passed  on.  The  last  carriage  bore  the  De  Maill^ 
crest,  but  a  National  Guard  occupied  the  box-seat  in 
place  of  the  magnificent  coachman  Aline  had  seen  the 
day  before,  when  Mme  de  Maill^  had  taken  her  old 
friend's  daughter  for  a  drive  through  Paris. 

The  door  of  the  chariot  opened,  and  Mme  De  Maill^, 
pale,  almost  fainting,  was  helped  out.  She  looked 
neither  to  right  nor  left,  and  when  Aline  started  forward 
and  would  have  spoken,  the  National  Guard  pushed  her 
roughly  back. 

"Go  home,  go  home!"  he  said,  not  unkindly;  "if  you 
are  not  arrested,  thank  the  saints  for  it,  for  there  are 
precious  few  aristocrats  as  lucky  to-day";  and  Aline 
shrank  against  the  wall,  dumb  with  perturbation  and 
dismay. 

As  in  a  dream  she  listened  to  the  clang  of  the  prison 
gate,  the  roll  of  departing  wheels,  and  it  was  only  when 
the  last  echo  died  away  that  the  mist  which  hung  about 


24        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

her  seemed  to  clear,  and  she  realised  that  she  was  alone 
in  the  deserted  street. 

Alone!  In  all  her  nineteen  years  she  had  never  been 
really  alone  before.  As  a  child  in  her  father's  chateau, 
as  a  girl  in  her  aristocratic  convent,  she  had  always 
been  guarded,  sheltered,  guided,  watched.  She  had 
certainly  never  walked  a  yard  in  the  open  street,  or  been 
touched  by  a  man's  hand,  as  the  Commissioner  Lenoir 
had  touched  her  a  few  minutes  since.  She  felt  her 
shoulder  burn  through  the  thin  muslin  fichu  that  veiled 
it  so  discreetly,  and  the  blood  ran  up,  under  her  delicate 
skin,  to  the  roots  of  the  curling  hair,  where  gold  tints 
showed  here  and  there  through  the  lightly  sprinkled 
powder. 

It  was  still  very  hot,  though  so  late  in  the  afternoon, 
and  the  sun,  though  near  its  setting,  shot  out  a  level  ray 
or  two  that  seemed  to  make  palpable  the  strong,  brood- 
ing heat  of  the  evening. 

Aline  felt  dazed,  and  so  faint  that  she  was  glad  to 
support  herself  against  the  rough  prison  wall.  When 
she  could  control  her  trembling  thoughts  a  little,  she 
began  to  wonder  what  she  should  do.  She  had  only 
been  a  week  in  Paris,  she  knew  no  one  except  her  cousin, 
the  Vicomte,  and  Mme  de  Maille,  and  they  were  in 
prison — they  and  many,  many  more.  For  the  moment 
these  frowning  walls  stood  to  her  for  home,  or  all  that 
she  possessed  of  home,  and  she  was  shut  outside,  in  a 
dreadful  world,  full  of  unknown  dangers,  peopled  perhaps 
with  persons  who  would  speak  to  her  as  Lenoir  had  done, 
touch  her  even, — and  at  that  she  flushed  again,  shud- 
dered and  looked  wildly  round. 

A  very  fat  woman  was  coming  down  the  street, — the 
fattest  woman  Mile  de  Rochambeau  had  ever  seen,  yes, 
fatter  even  than  Sister  Josephe,  she  considered,  with 


Shut  Out  by  a  Prison  Wall  25 

that  mechanical  detachment  of  thought  which  is  so 
often  the  accompaniment  of  great  mental  distress. 

She  wore  a  striped  petticoat  and  a  gaily  flowered 
gown,  the  sleeves  of  which  were  rolled  up  to  display  a 
pair  of  huge  brown  arms.  She  had  a  very  broad,  sallow 
face,  and  little  pig's  eyes  sunk  deep  in  rolls  of  crinkled 
flesh.  Aline  gazed  at  her,  fascinated,  and  the  woman 
returned  the  look.  In  truth.  Mile  de  Rochambeau,  with 
her  rose- wreathed  hair,  her  delicate  muslin  dress,  her 
fichu  trimmed  with  the  finest  Valenciennes  lace,  her  thin 
stockings  and  modish  white  silk  shoes,  was  a  sufficiently 
arresting  figure,  when  one  considered  the  hour  and  the 
place.  The  fat  woman  hesitated  a  moment,  and  in  that 
moment  Mademoiselle  spoke. 

"Madame " 

It  was  the  most  hesitating  essay  at  speech,  but  the 
woman  stopped  and  swung  her  immense  body  round 
until  she  faced  the  girl. 

"Eh  bien,  Ma'mselle,"  she  said  in  a  thick,  drawling 
voice. 

Mademoiselle  moistened  her  dry  lips  and  tried  again. 

"Madame — I  do  not  know — can  you  tell  me, — oh! 
you  look  kind,  can  you  tell  me  what  to  do?  " 

"What  to  do,  Ma'mselle?" 

"  Oh  yes,  Madame,  and — and  where  to  go?  "      # 

"Where  to  go,  Ma'mselle?" 

"Yes,  Madame." 

"Butv/hy,  Ma'mselle?" 

When  anything  terrible  happens  to  the  very  young, 
they  are  unable  to  realise  that  the  whole  world  does 
not  know  of  their  misfortune.  Thus  to  Mile  de  Rocham- 
beau it  appeared  inconceivable  that  this  woman  should 
be  in  ignorance  of  so  important  an  event  as  the  arrest 
of  the  Marquise  de  Montargis  and  her  friends.     It  was 


26         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

only  when,  to  a  piizzled  expression,  the  woman  added  a 
significant  tap  of  the  gnarled  forefinger  upon  the  heavy 
forehead,  and,  with  a  shrug  of  voluminous  shoulders, 
prepared  to  pass  on,  that  it  dawned  upon  her  that  here 
perhaps  was  help,  and  that  it  was  slipping  away  from 
her  for  want  of  a  little  explanation. 

"Oh,  Madame,"  she  exclaimed  desperately,  "do  listen 
to  me.  I  am  Mile  de  Rochambeau,  and  it  is  only  a 
week  since  I  came  to  Paris  to  be  with  my  cousin,  the 
Marquise  de  Montargis,  and  now  they  have  arrested 
her,  and  I  have  nowhere  to  go." 

A  sound  of  voices  came  from  behind  the  great  gate  of 
the  prison. 

"Walk  a  little  way  with  me,"  said  the  fat  woman 
abruptly.  "There  will  be  more  than  you  and  me  in  this 
conversation  if  we  loiter  here  like  this.  Continue,  then, 
Ma'mselle — you  have  nowhere  to  go?  But  why  not  to 
your  cousin's  hotel  then?" 

"My  cousin  would  have  had  me  do  so,  but  the  Com- 
missioners would  not  permit  it.  Everything  must  be 
sealed  up  they  said,  the  servants  all  driven  out,  and  no 
one  to  come  and  go  until  they  had  finished  their  search 
for  treasonable  papers.  My  cousin  is  accused  of  cor- 
responding with  Austria  on  behalf  of  the  Queen,"  Mile 
de  Rochambeau  remarked  innocently,  but  something 
in  her  companion's  change  of  expression  convicted  her 
of  her  imprudence,  and  she  was  silent,  colouring  deeply. 

The  fat  woman  frowned. 

"  Madame,  your  cousin,  had  a  large  society ;  her  friends- 
would  protect  you." 

Aline  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  know  who  they  are,  Madame.  Mme  de 
Maill^,  to  whom  my  cousin  commended  me,  is  also  in 
prison,  and  others  too, — many  others,  the  driver  of  the 


Shut  Out  by  a  Prison  Wall  27 

carriage  said.  I  have  nowhere  to  go,  nowhere  to  go, 
nowhere  at  all,  Madame." 

"Sainte  Vierge!"  exclaimed  the  fat  woman.  The 
ejaculation  burst  from  her  with  great  suddenness,  and 
she  then  closed  her  lips  very  tightly  and  walked  on  for 
some  moments  in  silence. 

"Have  you  any  money?"  was  her  next  contribution 
to  the  conversation,  and  Mademoiselle  started  and  put 
her  hand  to  her  bosom.  Until  this  moment  she  had 
forgotten  it,  but  the  embroidered  bag  containing  her 
cousin's  winnings  reposed  there  safely  enough,  neigh- 
boured by  her  broken  string  of  pearls.  She  drew  out 
the  bag  now  and  showed  it  to  her  companion,  who  gave 
a  sort  of  grunt,  and  permitted  a  new  crease,  expressive 
of  satisfaction,  to  appear  upon  her  broad  countenance. 

"Eh  bien!"  she  exclaimed.  "All  is  easy.  Money 
is  a  good  key, — a  very  good  key,  Ma'mselle.  There  are 
very  few  doors  it  won't  unlock,  and  mine  is  not  one, — 
besides  the  coincidence!  Figure  to  yourself  that  I  was 
but  now  on  my  way  to  ask  my  sister,  who  is  the  wife 
of  Bault,  the  head  gaoler  of  La  Force,  whether  she  could 
recommend  me  some  respectable  young  woman  who 
required  a  lodging.  I  did  not  look,  it  is  true,  for  a  noble 
demoiselle," — here  the  smooth  voice  took  a  tone  which 
caused  Mademoiselle  to  glance  up  quickly,  but  all  she 
saw  was  a  narrowing  of  the  eyes  above  a  huge  impassive 
smile,  and  the  flow  of  words  continued, — "la,  la,  it  is  all 
one  to  me,  if  the  money  is  safe.  There  is  nothing  to  be 
done  without  money." 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  drew  a  little  away  from  her 
companion.  She  was  unaccustomed  to  so  familiar  a 
mode  of  speech,  and  it  offended  her. 

The  little,  sharp  eyes  flashed  upon  her  as  she  averted 
her  face,  and  the  voice  dropped  back  into  its  first  tone. 


28         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

**  Well  then,  Ma'mselle,  it  is  easily  settled,  and  I  need 
not  go  to  my  sister  at  all  to-night.  It  grows  dark  so 
early  now,  and  I  have  no  fancy  for  being  abroad  in  the 
dark ;  but  one  thing  and  another  kept  me,  and  I  said  to 
myself,  '  Put  a  thing  off  often  enough,  and  you  '11  never 
do  it  at  all.'  My  cousin  Therese  was  with  me,  the  bag- 
gage, and  she  laughed;  but  I  was  a  match  for  her. 
'That's  what  you've  done  about  marriage,  Therese,'  I 
said,  and  out  of  the  shop  she  bounced  in  as  fine  a  temper 
as  you'd  see  any  day.  She's  a  light  thing,  Therese  is; 
and,  bless  me,  if  I  warned  her  once  I  warned  her  a  hund- 
red times !  Always  gadding  abroad, — and  her  ribbons 
— and  her  fal-lals — and  the  fine  young  men  who  were 
ready  to  cut  one  another's  throats  for  her  sake!  No,  no, 
that 's  not  the  way  to  get  a  husband  and  settle  oneself 
in  Ufe.  Look  at  me.  Was  I  beautiful?  But  certainly 
not.  Had  I  a  large  dot?  Not  at  all.  But  respectable, 
— Mon  Dieu,  yes!  No  one  in  all  Paris  can  say  that 
Rosalie  Leboeuf  is  not  respectable;  and  when  Madame, 
your  cousin,  comes  out  of  prison  and  hears  you  have  been 
under  my  roof,  I  tell  you  she  will  be  satisfied,  Ma'mselle. 
No  one  has  ever  had  a  word  to  say  against  me.  I  keep 
my  shop,  and  I  pay  my  way,  even  though  times  are  bad. 
Regular  money  coming  in  is  not  to  be  despised,  so  I  take 
a  lodger  or  two.  I  have  one  now,  a  man.  A  man  did 
I  say?  An  angel,  a  patriot,  a  true  patriot;  none  of 
your  swearing,  drinking,  hiccupping,  lolloping  loafers, 
who  think  if  they  consume  enough  strong  liquor  that  the 
reign  of  liberty  will  come  floating  down  their  throats  of 
itself.  He  is  a  worker  this  one;  sober  and  industrious 
is  our  Citizen  Dangeau,  and  a  Deputy  of  the  Commune, 
too,  no  less." 

Mile  de  Rochambeau,  slightly  dazed  by  this  flow  of 
conversation,  felt  a  cold  chill  pass  over  her.     Commis- 


Shut  Out  by  a  Prison  Wall  29 

sioners  of  the  Commune,  Deputies  of  the  Commune! 
Was  Paris  full  of  them?  And  till  this  morning  she  had 
never  heard  of  the  Commune;  it  had  always  been  the 
King,  the  Court;  and  now,  to  her  faint  senses,  this  new 
word  brought  a  suggestion  of  fear,  and  she  seemed  for  a 
moment  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  black  curtain  vibrat- 
ing as  if  to  rise.  Behind  it,  what?  She  reeled  a  little, 
gasped,  and  caught  at  her  companion's  solid  arm.  In  a 
moment  it  was  round  her. 

"Courage,  Ma'mselle,  courage  then!  See,  we  are 
arrived.     It  is  better  now,  eh?" 

Mademoiselle  drew  a  long  breath,  and  felt  her  feet 
again.  They  were  in  an  alley  crowded  with  small  third- 
rate  shops,  and  so  closely  set  were  the  houses  that  it 
was  almost  dark  in  the  narrow  street.  Mme  Leboeuf 
led  the  way  into  one  of  the  dim  entrances,  where  a  strong 
mingled  odour  of  cabbages,  onions,  and  apples  pro- 
claimed the  nature  of  the  commodities  disposed  of. 

"Above,  it  will  be  light  enough  still,"  asserted  Rosalie 
between  her  panting  breaths.  "This  way,  Ma'mselle; 
one  small  step,  turn  to  the  left,  and  now  up." 

They  ascended  gradually  into  a  sort  of  twilight,  until 
suddenly  a  sharp  turn  in  the  stair  brought  them  on  to  a 
landing  with  a  fair-sized  window.  Opposite  was  a  gap 
in  the  dingy  line  of  houses,  and  through  this  gap  shone 
the  strong  red  of  the  setting  sun. 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  looked  out,  first  at  the  gorgeous 
pageant  in  the  sky,  and  then,  curiously,  at  the  strange- 
ness of  her  new  surroundings.  She  saw  a  tangle  of  mean 
slums,  streets  nearly  all  gutter,  from  which  rose  sounds 
of  children  squabbHng,  cats  fighting,  and  men  swearing. 
Suddenly  a  woman  shrieked,  and  she  turned,  terrified,  to 
realise  that  a  man  was  passing  them  on  his  way  down 
the  stair. 


30        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

She  caught  a  momentary  but  very  vivid  impression 
of  a  tall  figure  carried  easily,  a  small  head  covered  with 
short,  dark,  curling  hair,  and  a  pair  of  eyes  so  blue  and 
piercing  that  her  own  hung  on  them  for  an  instant  in 
surprise  before  they  fell  in  confusion.  The  owner  of  the 
eyes  bowed  slightly,  but  with  courtesy,  and  passed  on. 
Madame  Leboeuf  was  smiling  and  nodding. 

"Good  evening.  Citizen  Dangeau,"  she  said,  and 
broke,  as  he  passed,  into  renewed  panegyrics. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  TERROR  LET  LOOSE 

JACQUES  DANGEAU  was  at  this  time  about  eight- 
and- twenty  years  of  age.  He  was  a  successful 
lawyer,  and  an  ardent  Republican,  a  friend  of  Danton, 
and  a  fairly  prominent  member  of  the  Cordeliers'  Club. 

Under  a  handsome,  well-controlled  exterior  he  con- 
cealed an  unbounded  enthusiasm  and  a  passionate 
devotion  to  the  cause  of  liberty.  When  Dangeau  spoke, 
his  section  listened.  He  carried  always  in  his  mind  a 
vision  of  the  ideal  State,  in  the  service  of  which  a  race 
should  be  trained  from  infancy  to  the  civic  virtues, 
inflamed  with  a  pure  ambition  to  spend  themselves  for 
humanity.  He  saw  mankind,  shedding  brutishness  and 
self,  become  sober,  law-abiding,  just; — in  a  word,  he 
possessed  those  qualities  of  vision  and  faith  without 
which  neither  prophet  nor  reformer  can  influence  his 
generation.  Dangeau  had  the  gift  of  speech,  and, 
carried  on  a  flood  of  burning  words,  some  perception 
of  the  ultimate  Ideal  would  rise  upon  the  hearts  of  even 
the  most  degraded  among  his  hearers.  For  the  mo- 
ment they  too  felt  the  glow  of  a  reflected  altruism,  and 
forgot  that  to  them,  and  to  their  fellows,  the  Revolution 
meant  unpunished  pillage,  theft  recognised,  and  murder 
winked  at. 

As  Dangeau  walked  through  the  darkening  streets 

31 


32         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

his  heart  burned  in  him.  The  events  of  the  last  month 
had  brought  the  ideal  almost  within  grasp.  The  grapes 
of  liberty  had  been  trodden  long  enough  in  the  vats  of 
oppression.  Now  the  long  ferment  was  nearing  its 
close,  and  the  time  approached  when  the  wine  of  life 
should  be  free  to  all;  and  that  glorious  moment  of  an- 
ticipation held  no  dread  of  intoxication  or  excess.  Truly 
a  patriot  might  be  hopeful  at  this  juncture.  Capet  and 
his  family,  sometime  unapproachable,  lay  prisoners  now, 
in  the  firm  grip  of  the  Commune,  and  the  possession  of 
such  hostages  enabled  Paris  to  laugh  at  the  threats  of 
foreign  interference.  The  proclamation  of  the  Republic 
was  only  a  matter  of  weeks,  and  then — renewed  visions 
of  a  saturnian  reign, — peace  and  plenty  coupled  with 
the  rigid  virtues  of  old  kome, — rose  glowingly  before  his 
eyes. 

As  he  entered  the  Temple  gates  he  came  down  to 
earth  with  a  sigh.  He  was  on  his  way  to  take  his  turn 
of  a  duty  eminently  distasteful  to  him, — that  of  guard- 
ing the  imprisoned  King  and  his  family.  As  a  patriot 
he  detested  Louis  the  Tyrant,  as  a  man  he  despised  Louis 
the  man;  but  the  spectacle  of  fallen  greatness  was  dis- 
agreeable to  his  really  generous  mind,  and  he  was  of 
sufficiently  gentle  habits  to  revolt  from  the  position  of 
intrusive  familiarity  into  which  he  was  forced  with 
regard  to  the  women  of  the  party. 

The  Tower  of  the  Temple,  where  the  unfortunate 
Royal  Family  of  France  were  at  this  time  confined,  was 
to  be  reached  only  by  traversing  the  Palace  of  the  same 
name,  and  crossing  the  court  and  garden  where  the  work 
of  demolishing  a  mass  of  old  houses,  which  encroached 
too  nearly  upon  Capet's  prison,  was  still  proceeding. 
Patriotic  ardour  had  seen  a  spy  behind  every  window,  a 
concealed  courtier  in  every  niche ;  so  the  buildings  were 


The  Terror  Let  Loose  33 

doomed,  and  falling  fast,  whilst  from  the  debris  arose 
a  strong  enclosing  wall  pierced  by  a  couple  of  guarded 
entries.  Broken  masonry  lay  everywhere,  and  Dan- 
geau  stumbled  precariously  as  he  made  his  way  over 
the  rubble.  The  workmen  had  been  gone  this  half-hour, 
but  as  he  halted  and  called  out,  a  man  with  a  lantern 
advanced  and  piloted  him  to  the  Tower. 

The  Commune  was  responsible  for  the  prisoners  of 
the  Temple,  and  the  actual  guarding  of  them  was  dele- 
gated to  eight  of  its  Deputies.  These  were  on  duty 
for  forty-eight  hours  at  a  stretch,  and  were  relieved  by 
fours  every  twenty-four  hours. 

As  Dangeau  entered  the  Council-room,  those  whose 
term  of  duty  was  finished  were  already  leaving.  The 
office  of  gaoler  was  an  unpopular  one,  and  most  men, 
having  once  satisfied  their  curiosity  about  the  prisoners, 
were  very  unwilling  to  approach  them  again.  The  sight 
of  misfortune  is  only  pleasing  to  a  mind  completely 
debased,  and  most  of  these  Deputies  were  worthy  men 
enough. 

Dangeau  was  met  almost  on  the  threshold  by  a  fair- 
haired,  eager-looking  youth,  who  hailed  him  warmly  as 
Jacques,  and,  linking  his  arm  in  his,  led  him,  unresisting, 
into  the  deep  embrasure  of  the  window. 

"What  is  it,  Edmond?"  inquired  Dangeau,  an  unusu- 
ally attractive  smile  lighting  up  his  rather  grave  features. 
It  was  plain  that  this  young  man  roused  in  him  an 
amused  affection. 

"Nothing,"  said  Edmond  aloud,  "but  it  is  so  long 
since  I  saw  you.  Have  you  been  dead,  buried,  or  out  of 
Paris?" 

"Since  the  arm  you  pinched  just  now  is  reasona- 
bly solid  flesh  and  blood,  you  may  conclude  that 
during    the    past    fortnight    Paris    has    been    rendered 


34         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

inconsolable  by  my  absence,"  said  Dangeau,  laughing 
a  little. 

Edmond  Cl^ry  threw  an  imperceptible  glance  at  his 
fellow-Commissioners.  Two  being  always  with  the 
prisoners,  there  remained  four  others,  and  of  these  a 
couple  were  playing  cards  at  the  wine-stained  table,  and 
two  more  lounged  on  the  doorstep  smoking  a  villan- 
ously  rank  tobacco  and  talking  loudly. 

Certainly  no  one  was  in  the  least  interested  in  the 
conversation  of  Citizens  Dangeau  and  Cl^ry.  Yet  for 
all  that  Edmond  dropped  his  voice,  not  to  a  whisper,  but 
to  that  smooth  monotone  which  hardly  carries  a  yard, 
and  yet  is  distinctly  audible  to  the  person  addressed. 
In  this  voice  he  asked : 

"You  have  not  been  to  the  Club?" 

Dangeau  shook  his  head. 

"Nor  seen  Hubert,  Marat,  Jules  Dupuis?" 

An  expression  of  distaste  lifted  Dangeau's  finely  cut 

lip. 

"I  have  existed  without  that  felicity,"  he  observed, 
with  a  slightly  sarcastic  inflexion. 

"Then  you  have  been  told — have  heard — nothing?" 

"My  dear  Edmond,  what  mysteries  are  these?" 

Edmond  Cl^ry  leaned  a  little  closer,  and  dropped  his 
voice  until  it  was  a  mere  tenuous  thread. 

"They  have  decided  on  a  massacre,"  he  said. 

"A  massacre?" 

"Yes,  of  the  prisoners." 

"Just  Heaven!    No!" 

"It  is  true.  Things  have  fallen  from  Hubert  once  or 
twice.  He  and  Marat  have  been  closeted  for  hours — 
the  devil's  own  alliance  that — and  the  plan  is  of  their 
hatching.  Two  days  ago  Hubert  spoke  at  the  Club.  It 
was  late,  Danton  was  not  there.     They  say — "  Cl^ry 


The  Terror  Let  Loose  35 

hesitated,  and  stole  a  glance  at  his  companion's  set  face, 
—  ''they  say  he  wishes  to  know  nothing." 

"A  lie,"  said  Dangeau  very  quietly. 

"I  don't  know.  There,  Jacques,  don't  look  at  me 
like  that!  How  can  I  tell?  I  tell  you  my  brain  reels  at 
the  thought  of  the  thing." 

"What  did  Hebert  say?     He  spoke?" 

"Yes;  said  the  people  must  be  fleshed, — there  was 
not  sufficient  enthusiasm.  Paris  as  a  whole  was  quies- 
cent, apathetic.  This  must  be  changed,  an  elixir  was 
needed.  What?  Blood, — blood  of  traitors, — blood  of 
aristocrats, — oppressors  of  the  people.  Bah! — you  can 
fancy  the  rest  well  enough." 

"Did  any  one  else  speak?" 

"  Marat  said  the  Jacobins  were  with  us." 

"Robespierre?" 

"  In  it,  of  course,  but  would  n't  dirty  those  white  hands 
for  the  world,"  said  Clery,  sneering. 

"No  one  opposed  it?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  but  hooted  down  almost  at  once.  You  know 
Dupuis's  bull  voice?  It  did  his  friends  a  good  turn, 
bellowing  slackness,  lack  of  patriotism,  and  so  on.  I 
wish  you  had  been  there." 

Dangeau  shook  his  head. 

"I  could  have  done  nothing." 

"Ah,  but  you  could;  there 's  no  one  like  you,  Jacques. 
Danton  thunders,  and  Marat  spits  out  venom,  and 
Hubert  panders  to  the  vile  in  us,  but  you  really  make 
us  see  an  ideal,  and  wish  to  be  more  worthy  of  it.  I  said 
to  Barrassin,  'If  only  Dangeau  were  here  we  should  be 
spared  this  shame.' " 

The  boy's  face  flushed  as  he  spoke,  but  Dangeau 
looked  down  moodily. 

"I  could    have    done    nothing,"  he   repeated.     "If 


36         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

they  spoke  as  openly  as  that  it  is  because  their  plans  are 
completed.     Did  you  hear  any  more?" 

Edmond  looked  a  little  confused. 

"Not  there, — but — well,  I  was  told, — a  friend  told 
me, — it  was  for  to-morrow,"  and  he  looked  up  to  find 
Dangeau's  eyes  fixed  steadily  on  him. 

*'A  friend,  Edmond?     Who?     Ther^se?" 

Clery  coloured  hotly. 

"Why  not  Therese,  Jacques?" 

"Oh,  if  you  like  to  play  with  gunpowder  it 's  no  busi- 
ness of  mine,  Edmond;  but  the  girl  is  Hebert's  mistress, 
and  as  dangerous  as  the  devil,  that 's  all.  And  so  she 
told  you  that?" 

Clery  nodded,  a  trifle  defiantly. 

"To-morrow,"  said  Dangeau  slowly;  "where?" 

"At  all  the  prisons.  One  or  two  of  the  gaolers  are 
warned,  but  I  do  not  believe  they  will  be  able  to  do 
anything." 

Dangeau  was  thinking  hard. 

"They  sent  me  away  on  purpose,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Curse  them!"  said  Clery  in  a  shaking  voice. 

Dangeau  did  not  swear,  but  he  nodded  his  head 
as  who  should  say  Amen,  and  his  face  was  bitter 
hard. 

"  Is  anything  intended  here?"  he  asked  sharply. 

"  No,  not  from  head-quarters;  but  Heaven  knows  what 
may  happen  when  the  mob  tastes  blood." 

Dangeau  gave  a  short  laugh. 

"Why,  Jacques?"  said  Clery,  surprised. 

"Why,  Edmond,"  repeated  Dangeau  sardonically, 
"I  was  thinking  that  it  would  be  a  queer  turn  for  Fate 
to  play  if  you  and  I  were  to  die  to-morrow,  fighting  in 
defence  of  Capet  against  the  people." 

"You  would  do  that?"  asked  Edmond. 


The  Terror  Let  Loose  37 

"But  naturally,  my  friend,  since  we  are  responsible 
for  him." 

He  had  been  leaning  carelessly  against  the  wall,  but 
as  he  spoke  he  straightened  himself. 

"Our  friends  upstairs  will  be  getting  impatient,"  he 
said  aloud.     "Who  takes  the  night  duty  with  me? " 

Clery  was  about  to  speak,  but  received  a  warning 
pressure  of  the  arm.  He  was  silent,  and  Legros,  one  of 
the  loungers,  came  forward. 

Dangeau  and  he  went  out  together.  Upstairs  silence 
reigned.  The  two  Commissioners  on  duty  rose  with 
an  air  of  relief,  and  passed  out.  The  light  of  a  badly 
trimmed  oil-lamp  showed  that  the  little  party  of  prisoners 
were  all  present,  and  Dangeau  saluted  them  with  a 
grave  inclination  of  the  head  that  was  hardly  a  bow. 
His  companion,  clumsily  embarrassed,  shuffled  with  his 
feet,  spat  on  the  floor,  and  lounged  to  a  seat. 

The  Queen  raised  her  eyebrows  at  him,  and,  turning 
slightly,  smiled  and  nodded  to  Dangeau.  Mme  Eliza- 
beth bowed  abstractedly  and  turned  again  to  the  chess- 
board which  stood  between  her  and  her  brother.  Mme 
Roy  ale  curtsied,  but  the  little  Dauphin  did  not  raise 
his  head  from  some  childish  game  which  occupied  his 
whole  attention.  His  mother,  after  waiting  a  moment, 
called  him  to  her  and,  laying  one  of  her  long  delicate 
hands  on  his  petulantly  twitching  shoulder,  observed 
gently : 

"Fi  done,  my  son;  did  you  not  see  these  gentlemen 
enter?     Bid  them  good  evening ! " 

The  child  tossed  his  head,  but  as  his  father's  gaze  met 
him,  he  hung  it  down  again,  saying  in  a  clear  childish 
voice,  "Good  evening.  Citizens." 

Mme  Elizabeth's  colour  rose  perceptibly  at  the  form 
of  address,  but  the  Queen  smiled,  and,  giving  the  boy's 


38        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

shoulder  a  little  tap  of  dismissal,  she  turned  to  Dangeau. 

"We  forget  our  manners  in  this  solitude,  Monsieur," 
she  said  in  her  peculiarly  soft  and  agreeable  voice.  Then 
after  a  pause,  during  which  Dangeau,  to  his  annoyance, 
felt  that  his  face  was  flushing,  "It  is  Monsieur  Dangeau, 
is  it  not?" 

"  Citizen  Dangeau,  at  your  service." 

Marie  Antoinette  laughed ;  the  sound  was  pleasing  but 
disturbing.  "Oh,  my  good  Monsieur,  I  am  too  old  to 
learn  these  new  forms  of  address.  My  son,  you  see,  is 
quicker";  the  arch  eyes  clouded,  the  laugh  dropped  to 
a  sigh,  then  rippled  back  again  into  merriment.  "Only 
figure  to  yourself,  Monsieur,  that  I  have  had  already  to 
learn  one  new  language,  for  when  I  came  to  France  as  a 
bride,  all  was  strange — oh,  but  so  strange — to  me.  I 
had  hard  work,  I  do  assure  you;  and  that  good  Mme  de 
Noailles  was  a  famous  task-mistress!" 

"Should  it  be  harder  to  learn  simplicity?"  said  Dan- 
geau, a  faint  tinge  of  bitterness  in  his  pleasant  voice. 

"Why,  no.  Monsieur,"  returned  the  Queen,  "it  should 
not  be.  My  liking  has  always  been  for  simplicity. 
Good  bread  to  eat,  fresh  water  to  drink,  and  a  clean 
white  dress  to  wear, — with  these  things  I  could  be  very 
well  content.  But,  alas!  Monsieur,  the  last  at  least  is 
lacking  us ;  and  simplicity,  though  a  cardinal  virtue  now, 
does  not  of  itself  afford  an  occupation.  Pray,  Monsieur 
Dangeau,  could  you  not  ask  that  my  sister  and  I  should 
be  permitted  the  consolation  of  needlework?" 

Dangeau  coloured. 

"The  Commune  has  already  decided  against  needle- 
work," he  said  rather  curtly. 

"But  why  then.  Monsieur?" 

"Because  we  all  know  that  the  needle  may  be  used 
instead  of  the  pen,  and  that  it  is  as  easy  to  embroider 


The  Terror  Let  Loose  39 

treason  on  a  piece  of  stuff  as  to  write  it  on  paper,"  he 
replied,  with  some  annoyance. 

The  Queen  gave  a  little  light  laugh. 

"Oh,  de  grace!  Monsieur,"  she  said,  "my  sister  and  I 
are  not  so  clever!  But  may  we  not  at  least  knit? 
There  is  nothing  treasonable  in  a  few  pins  and  a  little 
wool,  is  there,  M.  le  Depute?" 

Dangeau  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  Consciousness 
of  the  Queen's  fascination  rendered  his  outward  aspect 
austere,  and  even  ungracious. 

"I  will  ask  the  Council,"  was  all  he  permitted  himself 
to  say,  but  was  thanked  as  charmingly  as  though  he  had 
promised  some  great  concession.  This  did  not  diminish 
his  discomfort,  and  he  was  acutely  conscious  of  Mme 
Elizabeth's  frown,  and  of  a  coarse  grunt  from  Legros. 

The  prisoners  did  not  keep  late  hours.  Punctually  at 
ten  the  King  rose,  ernbraced  Mme  Royale,  kissed  his 
sister's  forehead  and  the  Queen's  hand,  and  retired  to 
his  own  apartment,  accompanied  by  M.  le  Dauphin,  his 
valet,  and  the  Deputy  Legros.  The  Queen,  Mme 
Elizabeth,  and  Mme  Royale  busied  themselves  for  a 
moment  with  putting  away  the  chessmen,  and  a  book 
or  two  that  lay  about.  They  then  proceeded  to  their 
own  quarters,  which  consisted  of  two  small  rooms  open- 
ing from  an  ante-chamber.  There  Marie  Antoinette 
embraced  her  sister  and  daughter,  and  they  separated 
for  the  night.  Dangeau  was  obliged  to  enter  each 
apartment  in  turn,  in  order  to  satisfy  himself  that  all 
was  in  order,  after  which  he  locked  both  doors,  and  drew 
a  pallet-bed  across  that  which  led  to  the  Queen's  room. 
Here  he  stretched  himself,  but  it  was  long  ere  he  slept, 
and  his  thoughts  were  very  bitter.  No  Jacobin  of  them 
all  could  go  as  far  as  he  in  Republican  principles.  To 
him  the  Republic  was  not  only  the  best  form  of  govern- 


40        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

ment,  but  the  only  one  under  which  the  civic  virtues 
could  flourish.  It  was  his  faith,  his  ardent  religion, 
the  inspiration  of  his  life  and  labours,  and  it  was  this 
faith  which  he  was  to  see  clouded,  this  religion  defiled, 
this  inspiration  befouled, — and  at  the  hands  of  his 
co-devotees,  Hebert,  Marat,  and  their  crew.  They  wor- 
shipped at  the  same  altar,  but  they  brought  to  it  blood- 
stained hands,  lives  foul  with  license,  and  the  smoking 
blood  of  tortured  sacrifices. 

Paris  let  loose  on  the  prisoners!  He  shuddered  at 
the  thought.  Once  the  tiger  had  tasted  blood,  who 
could  assuage  his  thirst  ?  There  would  be  victims  enough 
and  to  spare.  Curled  fops  of  the  salons;  scented  ex- 
quisites of  the  Court ; indolent,  luxurious  priests;  smooth- 
skinned,  bright-eyed  women;  children  foolish  and 
unthinking.  He  saw  the  sea  of  blood  rise  and  rise  till 
it  engulfed  them  all. 

Strange  that  he  should  think  of  the  girl  he  had  seen 
for  an  instant  on  Rosalie's  stairway.  How  uneasily 
she  had  looked  at  him,  and  with  what  a  rising  colour. 
How  young  she  seemed,  how  delicately  proud.  Her  face 
stayed  with  him  as  he  sank  into  a  sleep,  vexed  by 
prophetic  dreams. 

The  next  morning  passed  uneasily.  It  was  a  hot, 
cloudless  day,  and  the  small  room  in  which  the  prisoners 
were  confined  became  very  oppressive.  The  King 
spent  a  part  of  the  time  in  superintending  the  education 
of  his  son,  and  whilst  thus  engaged  certainly  appeared 
to  greater  advantage  than  at  any  other  time.  The 
child  was  wayward,  wilful,  and  hard  to  teach;  but  the 
father's  patience  appeared  inexhaustible,  and  his  method 
of  imparting  information  was  not  only  painstaking,  but 
attractive. 

The  Princesses  read  or   conversed.      Presently  the 


The  Terror  Let  Loose  41 

King  got  up  and  began  pacing  the  room.  It  was  a 
habit  of  his,  and,  after  glancing  at  him  once  or  twice, 
Mme  EHzabeth  rose  and  joined  him.  Now  and  then 
they  stood  at  the  window  and  looked  out.  The  last  few 
houses  to  be  demolished  were  falling  fast,  and  the  King 
amused  himself  by  speculating  on  the  direction  likely  to 
be  taken  by  each  crashing  mass  of  masonry.  He  made 
little  wagers  with  his  sister,  was  chagrined  when  he  lost, 
and  pleased  out  of  all  reason  when  he  won.  Dangeau's 
lip  curled  a  little  as  he  watched  the  trivial  scene,  and 
perhaps  the  Queen  read  his  thought,  for  she  said 
smilingly : 

(  "Prisoners  learn  to  take  pleasure  in  small  things, 
Monsieur";  and  Dangeau  bit  his  lip.  The  quick  intui- 
tion, the  arch  glance,  confused  him. 

"All  things  are  comparative,"  continued  Marie 
Antoinette.  "  When  I  had  many  amusements  and  occu- 
pations, I  would  not  have  turned  my  head  to  remark 
what  now  constitutes  an  event  in  my  monotonous  day. 
Yesterday  a  workman  hurt  his  foot,  and  I  assure  you, 
Monsieur,  that  we  all  regarded  him  with  as  much  inter- 
est as  if  he  had  been  a  dear  friend.  Trifles  have  ceased 
to  be  trifles,  and  soon  I  shall  look  out  for  a  mouse  or  a 
spider  to  tame,  as  I  have  heard  of  prisoners  doing." 

"I  cannot  imagine  even  the  loneliest  of  unfortunates 
caring  for  a  spider, "  said  Dangeau,  with  a  smile. 

"No,  Monsieur,  nor  I,"  returned  the  Queen.  She 
seemed  about  to  speak  again,  and,  indeed,  her  lips  had 
already  opened,  when,  above  the  crash  of  the  falling 
masonry,  there  came  the  heavy  boom  of  a  gun.  Dangeau 
started  up.     It  came  again,  and  yet  a  third  time. 

"It  is  the  alarm,"  said  Legros  stolidly. 

Immediately  there  was  a  confused  noise  of  voices, 
shouting,  footsteps.     Dangeau  and  his  colleague  pressed 


42         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

forward  to  the  window.  The  workmen  were  throwing 
down  their  tools;  here  a  group  stood  talking,  gesticu- 
lating, there  half  a  dozen  were  running, — all  was 
confusion. 

Louis  had  recoiled  from  the  window.  His  great  face 
was  a  sickly  yellow,  and  the  sweat  stood  in  large  beads 
upon  the  skin. 

"Is  there  danger?  What  is  it?"  he  stammered,  and 
caught  at  the  table  for  support. 

Mme  Roy  ale  sat  still,  her  long,  mournful  features 
steadily  composed.  She  neither  moved  nor  cried  out, 
but  Dangeau  saw  the  thin,  unchildish  shoulders  tremble. 
Mme  Elizabeth  embraced  first  her  brother,  and  then  her 
sister,  demanding  protection  for  them  in  agitated  accents. 
Only  the  Queen  appeared  unmoved.  She  had  risen  and, 
passing  her  arm  through  that  of  her  husband,  rapidly 
addressed  a  few  words  to  him  in  an  undertone.  In- 
audible to  others,  they  had  an  immediate  effect  upon 
him,  for  he  retired  to  the  back  of  the  room,  sat  down, 
and  drew  his  little  son  upon  his  knee. 

The  Queen  then  turned  to  the  Commissioners. 

"What  is  it,  Messieurs?"  she  asked.  "Is  there 
danger?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Legros  bluntly. 

Dangeau  threw  her  a  reassuring  glance. 

"It  is  a  street  riot,  I  think,"  he  said  calmly.  "It  is 
probably  of  no  consequence ;  and  in  any  case,  Madame, 
we  are  here  to  protect  you,  with  our  lives  if  necessary. 
You  may  be  perfectly  assured  of  that." 

The  Queen  thanked  him  with  an  earnest  look  and 
resumed  her  seat.  The  noise  outside  decreased,  and 
presently  the  routine  of  the  day  fell  heavily  about  them 
once  more. 

If  Dangeau  were  disturbed  in  mind  his  face  showed 


I    m 


The  Terror  Let  Loose  43 

nothing,  and  if  he  found  the  day  of  an  interminable 
length  he  did  not  say  so.  When  the  evening  brought 
him  relief,  he  found  the  Council  in  considerable  excite- 
ment. The  prisons  had  been  raided,  "hundreds  killed," 
said  one.  "Bah !  only  one  or  two,  nothing  to  speak  of,  '* 
maintained  another. 

Edmond  Cl^ry  looked  agitated. 

"  It  is  only  the  beginning,"  he  whispered,  as  he  passed 
his  friend.  He  was  on  duty  with  the  prisoners,  so 
further  conversation  was  impossible;  but  Dangeau's 
sleep  in  the  Council-room  was  not  much  sounder  than 
that  of  the  night  before  in  the  Queen's  ante-chamber. 


CHAPTER  V 

A  CARNIVAL  OF  BLOOD 

SEPTEMBER  the  third  dawned  heavy  with  murky 
clouds,  out  of  which  climbed  a  sun  all  red,  like  a 
ball  of  fire.  The  mists  of  the  autumn  morning  caught 
the  tinge,  but  no  omens  could  add  to  the  tense  fore- 
boding which  wrapt  the  city.  It  needed  no  signs  in  the 
sky  to  prophesy  a  day  of  terror. 

At  La  Force  a  crowded  court-yard  held  those  of  the 
prisoners  who  had  escaped  the  previous  day's  massacre. 
They  had  been  driven  from  their  cells  at  dawn,  and, 
after  an  hour  or  two  of  strained  anticipation,  had 
gathered  into  their  accustomed  coteries.  Mme  de 
Lamballe,  who  had  heard  the  mob  howling  for  her 
blood,  sat  placidly  beautiful.  Now  and  then  she  spoke 
to  a  friend,  but  for  the  most  part  she  kept  her  eyes  on  the 
tiny  copy  of  The  Imitation  of  Christ  which  was  found 
in  her  blood-stained  clothes  later  on  in  that  frightful 
day.  Others,  less  devout,  or  less  alarmed,  were  gos- 
sipping,  chattering,  even  laughing,  or  playing  cards, 
as  if  La  Force  were  Versailles,  and  the  hands  on  the 
clock  of  Time  had  never  moved  for  the  last  four  years. 

Mme  de  Maille  was  gone.  Her  hacked  corpse  still  lay 
in  its  pool  of  blood,  her  dead  eyes  stared  unburied  at 
the  lowering  sky;  but  Mme  de  Montargis  sat  in  her 
old  place,  her  attendant  Vicomte  at  her  side.     If  her 

44 


l>^ 


A  Carnival  of  Blood  45 

face  was  pale  the  rouge  hid  it,  and  at  least  her  smile 
was  as  ready,  her  voice  as  careless,  as  ever.  Bault, 
the  gaoler,  stared  as  he  passed  her. 

''These  aristocrats!"  he  muttered;  ''any  honest 
woman  would  be  half- dead  of  fright  after  yesterday,  and 
what  to-day  will  bring.  Heaven  knows !  I  myself,  mille 
diables!  I  myself,  I  shake,  my  hand  trembles,  I  am  in 
the  devil's  own  sweat, — and  there  she  sits,  that  light 
woman,  and  laughs !  '  * 

As  he  passed  into  his  own  room,  his  wife  caught  him 
by  the  arm 

"Jean,  Jean,  mon  Dieu,  Jean!  They  are  coming 
back!"  He  strained  his  ears,  listening,  gripping  his 
wife,  as  she  gripped  him. 

"It  is  true,"  he  murmured  hoarsely. 

A  sullen,  heavy  drone  burdened  the  air.  It  was  like 
the  sound  of  the  rising  tide  on  a  day  of  storm, — far  off, 
but  nearer,  every  moment  nearer,  nearer,  until  it 
drowned  the  thumping  of  the  frightened  pulses  which 
beat  so  loudly  at  his  ears.  A  buzz  as  of  infernal  bees, — 
its  component  parts,  laughter  of  hell,  audible  lust  of 
cruelty,  just  retribution  clamorous,  and  the  cry  of 
innocent  blood  shed  long  ago.  All  this,  blent  with  the 
howl  of  the  beast  who  scents  blood,  made  up  a  sound 
so  awful,  that  it  was  small  wonder  that  the  sweat 
dripped  heavily  from  the  brow  of  Bault,  the  gaoler,  or 
that  his  wife  clung  to  his  arm,  praying  him  to  think  of 
their  children. 

To  his  honour  be  it  said  that  he  risked  his  life,  and 
more  than  his  life,  to  save  some  two  hundred  of  his 
prisoners,  but  for  the  rest — their  doom  was  sealed. 

It  had  been  written  long  ago,  in  letters  of  cumulative 
anguish,  when  the  father  of  Mme  de  Montargis  had  torn 
that  shrieking  peasant  bride  from  her  husband's  side  on 


46        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

their  marriage-day,  when  her  grandfather  hanged  at  his 
gates  the  starving  wretches  who  clamoured  over-loudly 
for  release  from  the  gabelle, — hardly  a  noble  family  in 
France  but  had  some  such  record  at  their  backs,  signs 
in  an  alphabet  that  was  to  spell  "The  Terror."  At  the 
hands  of  the  fathers  was  sown  the  seed  of  hate,  and  the 
doom  of  the  reaping  came  fast  upon  their  children. 

King  Mob  was  at  his  revels,  but  he  must  needs  play 
a  ghastly  comedy  with  the  victims.  There  should  be  a 
trial  for  each,  a  really  side-splitting  affair.  "A  table, 
Bault,"  and  up  with  the  judges,  three  of  them,  wrapped 
in  a  drunken  dignity,  a  chair  apiece,  a  bonnet  rouge  on 
each  august  head;  and  prisoner  after  prisoner  hurried 
up,  and  interrogated.  A  look  was  enough  for  some,  a 
word  too  much  for  others.  Here  and  there  a  lucky 
answer  drew  applause,  and  won  a  life,  but  for  the  most 
part  came  the  sentence,  "  A  TAbbaye, " — and  straightway 
off  went  the  condemned  to  the  inviolable  cloisters  of 
death. 

Mme  de  Montargis  came  up  trippingly  upon  the 
Vicomte  de  S^lincourt's  arm.  Their  names  were 
enough — both  stank  in  the  nostrils  of  the  crowd.  There 
was  a  shout  of  "Austrians,  Austrian  spies!  take  them 
away,  take  them  out!" 

"To  the  Abbaye,"  bawled  the  reverend  judges,  and 
Madame  made  them  a  little  curtsey.  This  was  better 
than  she  expected. 

"I  thank  you.  Messieurs,"  she  murmured;  and  then 
to  the  Vicomte :  "  Mon  ami,  we  are  in  luck.  The  Abbaye 
can  hardly  be  more  incommodious  than  La  Force." 

"Quelle  comedie!"  responded  Selincourt,  with  a 
shrug,  and  with  that  the  door  before  them  opened. 

Let  us  give  them  the  credit  of  their  qualities.  That 
open  door  gave  straight  into  hell, — an  inferno  of  tossing 


A  Carnival  of  Blood  47 

pikes  which  dripped  with  blood,  dripped  to  a  pavement 
red  and  slippery  as  a  shambles,  whilst  a  hoarse,  wild- 
beast  roar,  full  of  oaths,  and  lust,  and  savage  violence, 
broke  upon  their  ears. 

If  Mme  de  Montargis  hesitated,  it  was  for  the 
hundredth  part  of  a  second  only.  Then  she  raised  her 
scent-ball  carelessly  to  her  nostrils,  and  the  hand  that 
held  it  did  not  shake. 

"Tiens,  mon  ami,"  she  said,  "your  comedy  becomes 
tragedy.  I  never  thought  it  my  r61e,  but  it  seems  le  bon 
Dieu  thinks  otherwise";  and  with  that  she  stepped 
daintily  out  on  to  the  reeking  cobble-stones.  One  is 
glad  to  think  that  the  first  pike- thrust  was  well  aimed, 
and  that  it  was  an  unconscious  form  that  went  down  to 
the  mire  and  blood  below. 

The  beautiful  Lamballe  was  just  behind.  They  say 
she  knew  she  was  going  to  her  death.  There  is  a  tale 
of  a  dream — God!  what  a  dream! — an  augury,  what 
not?  Heaven  knows  no  great  degree  of  prescience  was 
required.  She  turned  very  pale,  her  eyes  on  her  book 
until  the  last  moment,  when  she  slipped  it  into  her 
pocket,  with  one  of  those  unconscious  movements  dic- 
tated by  a  brain  too  numb  to  work  otherwise  than  by 
habit.  She  met  the  horror  with  dilated  eyes, — eyes  that 
glazed  to  a  faint  before  death  struck  her.  Nature  was 
merciful,  and  death  a  boon,  for  over  her  corpse  began  a 
carnival  of  lust  and  blood  so  hideous  that  imagination 
staggers  at  it,  and  history  veils  it  in  shuddering  generali- 
ties.    No  need  to  dwell  upon  its  details. 

What  concerns  us  is  that,  having  her  head  upon  a 
pike,  and  the  mutilated  body  trailing  by  the  heels,  the 
whole  mad  mob  set  off  to  the  Temple,  to  show  Marie 
Antoinette  her  friend,  and  to  serve  the  Queen  as  they 
had  served  the  Princess. 


48         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

It  was  between  twelve  and  one  in  the  day  that  news 
of  what  was  passing  came  to  the  Temple.  It  was  the 
fat  Butin  who  brought  it.  He  came  in  on  the  Council 
panting,  gasping,  dripping  with  the  moisture  of  heat  and 
fear.  All  his  broad,  scarlet  face  was  drawn,  and  his 
lips,  under  the  bristling  moustache,  were  pale — a  thing 
very  strange  and  arresting.  It  was  plain  that  he  had 
news  of  the  first  importance,  but  it  was  some  time  before 
he  could  speak.  When  his  voice  came  it  was  all  out  of 
key,  and  his  whole  portly  body  quivered  with  the  effort 
to  control  it. 

"Hell  is  out,  Citizens!"  were  his  first  connected  words. 
Then — "Oh!  they  are  mad,  they  are  mad,  and  they 
are  just  behind  me.  Close  the  gates  quickly,  or  they  11 
be  through!" 

A  bewildered  group  emitted  Dangeau. 

"What  has  happened.  Citizen?"  he  asked  steadily. 
"A  riot?     Like  yesterday?" 

"Like  yesterday?  No,  ma  foi.  Citizen!  Yesterday 
was  child's  play,  a  mere  nothing;  to-day  they  murder 
every  one,  and  when  they  have  murdered  they  tear  in 
pieces.  They  have  assassinated  the  Lamballe,  and  they 
are  coming  here  for  Capet's  wife!" 

"How  many?"  asked  Dangeau  sharply. 

"How  do  I  know!"  and  fat  Butin  wrung  his 
hands.  "The  streets  are  full  of  them,  leaping,  and 
howling,  and  shouting  like  devils.  Does  the  Citizen 
suppose  I  stayed  to  count  them? — I,  the  father  of  a 
family!" 

The  Citizen  supposed  nothing  so  unlikely;  in  fact,  his 
questions  asked,  he  was  not  thinking  of  Butin  at  all. 
His  brain  was  working  quickly,  clearly.  Already  he 
saw  his  course  marked  out,  and,  as  a  consequence,  he 
assumed  that  command  of  the  situation  which  is  always 


A  Carnival  of  Blood  49 

ceded  to  the  man  who  sees  his  way  before  him  whilst 
his  fellows  walk  befogged. 

He  sat  at  the  table  and  wrote  two  notes,  despatching 
one  to  the  President  of  the  Legislative  Council  and  the 
other  to  the  General  Council  of  the  Commune. 

Then  he  announced  their  contents,  speaking  briefly 
and  with  complete  assurance. 

"I  have  written  asking  for  six  members  of  the  As- 
sembly and  six  of  the  Council,  popular  men  who  will 
assist  us  to  control  the  mob.  We  shall,  of  course,  defend 
the  prisoners  with  our  lives  if  necessary,  but  there  must 
be  no  fighting  unless  as  a  last  recourse.  Where  is  the 
captain  of  the  Guard?" 

The  officer  came  forward,  saluting. 

"You  have — how  many  men?" 

"Four  hundred.  Citizen." 

"You  can  answer  for  them — their  discipline,  their 
nerve?" 

"With  my  life!" 

"Very  well,  attend  to  your  instructions.  Both  sides 
of  the  great  gates  are  to  be  opened." 

"Opened,  Citizen?"  stammered  the  captain,  whilst  a 
murmur  of  dissatisfaction  ran  through  the  room. 

Dangeau's  brows  made  a  dangerous  straight  line. 

"Opened,"  he  repeated  emphatically.  "Between 
the  outer  and  inner  doors  you  will  draw  up  a  double  line 
of  your  steadiest  men — unarmed." 

It  was  only  the  officer's  look  which  protested  this 
time,  but  it  quailed  before  Dangeau's  glance  of  steel. 

"You  will  place  a  strong  guard  beyond,  out  of  sight. 
These  men  will  be  fully  armed.  All  corridors,  passages, 
and  courts  leading  to  the  Tower  will  be  held  in  sufficient 
force,  but  not  a  man  is  to  make  so  much  as  a  threatening 
gesture  without  orders.     You  will  be  so  good  as  to  carry 

4 


50        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

out  these  instructions  without  delay.  I  shall  join  you  at 
the  gate." 

The  captain  swung  away,  and  Dangeau  turned  to  his 
colleagues. 

"I  propose  to  try  to  bring  the  people  to  reason,"  he 
said;  "if  they  will  hear  me,  I  will  speak  to  them.  If 
not — we  can  only  die.  The  prisoners  are  a  sacred  trust, 
but  to  have  to  use  violence  in  defending  them  would  be 
fatal  in  the  extreme,  and  every  means  must  be  taken  to 
obviate  the  necessity.  Legros,  you  are  a  popular  man, 
and  you,  Meunier;  meet  the  mob,  fraternise  with  the 
leaders,  promote  a  feeling  of  confidence.  They  must  be 
led  to  feel  that  it  is  our  patriotism  which  denies  them, 
and  not  any  sentiment  of  sympathy  with  tyrants." 

There  was  a  low  murmur  of  applause  as  Dangeau 
concluded.  He  had  acted  so  rapidly  that  these  slow- 
thinking  bourgeois  had  scarcely  grasped  the  necessity  for 
action  before  his  plan  was  laid  before  them,  finished  to 
the  last  detail. 

As  he  left  the  room,  he  had  a  last  order  to  give: 
"Tell  Cl^ry  and  Renault  to  keep  the  prisoners  away 
from  the  windows";  and  with  that  was  on  his  way  to 
the  gates. 

His  instructions  were  being  carried  out  expeditiously 
enough.  The  great  gates  stood  wide,  and  he  passed 
towards  them  through  a  double  row  of  the  National 
Guard.  A  sharp,  scrutinising  glance  appeared  to  satisfy 
him.  These  were  what  he  wanted — men  who  could 
face  a  mob,  unarmed,  as  coolly  as  if  they  were  on  parade ; 
men  who  would  obey  orders  without  thought  or  question. 
They  stood,  a  solid  embodiment  of  law  and  order,  dis- 
cipline, and  decorum. 

Dangeau  took  off  his  tri-coloured  sash,  borrowed  a 
couple  more,  knotted  them  together,  suspended  them 


A  Carnival  of  Blood  51 

across  the  unbarred  entranq|,  and,  having  requisitioned 
a  chair,  sat  down  on  it,  and  awaited  the  arrival  of  the 
mob. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait. 

They  came,  heralded  by  a  dull,  hideous  roar:  no  longer 
the  tiger  howl  of  the  unfleshed  beast,  but  the  devilish 
mirth  of  the  same  beast,  full  fed,  but  not  yet  sated,  and 
of  mood  wanton  as  well  as  murderous.  It  would  still 
kill,  but  with  a  refinement  of  cruelty.  The  pike-thrust 
was  not  enough.  It  would  not  suffice  them  to  butcher 
the  Queen, — she  must  first  kiss  the  livid  lips  of  their 
other  victim;  she  must  be  stripped,  insulted,  dragged 
alive  through  the  Paris  streets. 

In  this  new  mood  they  had  stopped  on  their  way  to 
the  Temple,  broken  into  the  trembling  Clermont's  shop, 
and  forced  that  skilful  barber  to  dress  the  Princesse  de 
Lamballe's  exquisite  hair  and  rouge  the  bloodless  cheeks. 

The  hair  was  piled  high,  and  wreathed  with  roses; 
roses  bloomed  in  the  dead  cheeks,  beneath  the  lifeless 
violet  of  the  loveliest  eyes  in  France.  Only  the  mouth 
drooped  livid,  ghastly,  drained  of  delight.  Clermont  had 
done  what  he  could.  Even  terror  could  not  rob  his 
fingers  of  their  skill,  but,  as  he  muttered  to  himself,  with 
shaking  lips,  "Am  I,  le  bon  Dieu,  to  make  the  dead 
live?"  Rouge  and  rose-wreathed  hair  made  Death 
more  ghastly  still,  but  the  mob  was  satisfied,  and  tossing 
him  a  diamond  buckle  for  his  pains,  they  swung  off 
again,  the  head  before  them. 

It  was  thus  that  Dangeau  saw  them  come.  For  a 
moment  the  blood  ran  thick  and  turgid  through  his 
brain,  the  next  it  cleared,  and,  though  his  heart  beat  fast, 
it  was  with  the  greatest  appearance  of  calm  that  he 
mounted  hi's  improvised  rostrum,  and  held  up  his  hand 
in  a  gesture  demanding  silence. 


52         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

The  mob  swept  on  unheeding;  nearer,  nearer,  right 
on  without  check  or  pause,  to  the  fragile  ribbon  that 
alone  barred  their  way.  Had  Dangeau  changed  colour, 
had  his  eye  flickered,  or  that  outstretched  arm  quivered 
ever  so  little,  they  would  have  been  on  him — overhim, 
and  another  massacre  would  have  been  written  on  the 
stained  pages  of  History. 

But  Dangeau  stood  motionless;  an  unbearable  tension 
held  him  rigid.  His  steady  eyes — like  steel  with  the 
sun  on  it — fixed  the  leader  of  the  mob ; — fixed  him,  held 
him,  stopped  him.  A  bare  yard  from  the  gates,  the 
man  who  held  the  head  aloft  slackened  speed,  hesi- 
tated, and  finally  came  to  a  standstill  so  close  to 
Dangeau  that  a  little  of  the  scented  powder  in  the 
Princess's  hair  fell  down  and  whitened  the  sleeve  of 
his  outstretched  arm.  Like  sheep,  the  silly  crowd  be- 
hind checked  as  their  leader  checked,  and  stopped  as 
he  had  stopped. 

Dangeau  and  he  stood  looking  at  one  another.  The 
man  was  a  giant,  black  and  hairy,  stripped  to  the  waist 
and  a-reek  with  blood.  Under  a  villainous,  low  brow 
his  hot,  small  eyes  winked  and  glared,  shifted,  and  fell  at 
last  before  the  steadier  gaxe. 

Dangeau  turned  a  little,  beckoning  with  his  hand,  and 
there  was  a  momentary  lull  in  the  chorus  of  shouts,  oaths, 
and  obscene  songs. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  shouted. 

The  mob  renewed  its  wild-beast  howl. 

Dangeau  beckoned  again. 

"Let  your  leader  speak, "  he  called;  and  as  the  ruffian 
with  the  head  was  pleased  to  second  his  suggestion,  he 
obtained  a  second  interval  in  the  storm. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked  again,  and  received 
this  time  an  answer,  couched  in  language  too  explicit  to 


A  Carnival  of  Blood  S3 

be  transcribed,  but  the  substance  of  which  was  that  the 
Capet  woman  was  to  kiss  her  precious  friend. 

"And  then?"  Dangeau's  speech  fell  cold  and  clear 
as  ice  upon  the  heated  words  of  the  demagogue. 

''And  then,  aha!  then — "  She  was  to  be  taught 
what  the  people's  vengeance  meant.  For  how  many- 
years  had  they  toiled  that  she  might  have  her  sport? 
Now  she  should  make  sport  for  them,  and  then  they 
would  tear  her  limb  from  limb,  show  her  traitorous 
heart  to  Paris,  where  she  had  lived  so  wantonly;  burn 
her  vile  body  to  ashes. 

Again  that  high,  cool  voice 

"And  then?" 

The  ruffian  scowled,  spat  viciously,  and  swore. 

"Then,  then — a  thousand  devils!  What  did  the 
Citizen  mean  with  his  'and  then*?  He  supposed  that 
they  should  go  home  until  there  was  another  tyrant 
to  kill." 

"And  then — shall  I  tell  you  what  then? — will  you 
hear  me,  Dangeau?  Some  of  you  know  me,"  and  his 
eye  lit  on  a  wizened  creature  who  danced  horribly  about 
the  headless  corpse. 

"Antoine,  have  you  forgotten  the  February  of  two 
years  ago?" 

The  ghastly  object  ceased  its  strange  rhythmic  move- 
ments, stared  a  moment,  and  broke  into  voluble  speech. 

"  'T  is  a  patriot,  this  Dangeau,  I  say  it — I  whom  he 
saved  from  prison.  Listen  to  him.  He  has  good, 
strong  words.  Tell  us  then.  Citizen,  tell  us  what 
we're  to  do,"  and  he  capered  nearer,  catching  at 
Dangeau's  chair  with  fingers  horribly  smeared. 

Silence  fell,  and,  after  a  very  slight  pause,  Dangeau 
leaned  forward  and  began  to  speak  in  a  low,  confidential 
tone. 


54         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"All  here  are  patriots,  are  they  not?  Not  a  traitor 
amongst  you,  citizens  all,  proved  and  true.  You  have 
struck  down  the  enemies  of  France,  and  now  you  ask 
what  next?"  His  voice  rose  suddenly  and  thrilled  over 
the  vast  concourse. 

"Citizens  of  Paris,  the  whole  world  looks  to  you — 
the  nations  of  Europe  stand  waiting.  They  look  to 
France  because  it  is  the  cradle  of  the  new  religion, — 
the  religion  of  humanity.  France,  revolted  from  under 
the  hand  of  her  tyrants,  rises  to  give  the  law  to  all 
future  generations.  With  us  is  the  rising  sun,  whose 
beams  shed  liberty,  justice,  equality;  and  on  this  splen- 
did dawn  all  eyes  are  fixed. " 

"They  shall  see  us  crush  the  tyrants!"  bellowed  the 
crowd. 

"They  shall  see  it,"  repeated  Dangeau,  and  the  words 
rang  like  an  oath.  "Europe  shall  see  it,  the  World 
shall  see  it.  But,  friends,  shall  we  not  give  them  a 
spectacle  worthy  of  their  attention,  read  them  a  lesson 
that  shall  stand  on  the  page  of  History  for  ever?  Shall 
we  not  take  a  little  time  in  devising  how  this  lesson 
may  be  most  plainly  taught?  Shall  a  few  patriots, 
— earnest,  sincere,  passionately  devoted  to  liberty  it  is 
true,  but  unauthorised  by  France,  or  by  the  duly  dele- 
gated authority  of  the  people, — shall  a  few  weak  men,  in 
an  outburst  of  virtuous  indignation  putting  a  tyrant  to 
death,  shall  this  impress  the  waiting  peoples?  Will  they 
not  say,  'France  did  not  will  it — the  people  did  not 
will  it — it  was  the  work  of  a  few  *  ?  Will  they  not  say 
this?  On  the  other  side,  see — a  crowded  hall,  the  hall 
of  the  people's  delegates.  They  judge  and  they  con- 
demn, and  Justice  draws  her  sword.  In  the  eye  of  the 
day,  in  the  face  of  the  world,  before  the  whole  people, 
there  falls  the  tyrant's  head.     Then  would  not  Europe 


A  Carnival  of  Blood  55 

tremble?  Then  would  not  thrones  based  on  iniquity 
totter,  tyrants  fall,  and  the  universal  reign  of  liberty 
begin?" 

The  crowd  swayed,  hypnotised  by  the  rolling  voice, 
for  Dangeau  had  the  tones  that  thrill,  that  stir,  that 
soothe.  We  do  not  always  understand  the  fame  of  dead- 
and-gone  orators.  Their  periods  leave  us  cold,  their 
arguments  do  not  move  us,  their  words  seem  no  more 
eloquent  than  another's;  and  yet,  in  their  day,  these  men 
swept  a  whirlwind  of  emotion,  colour,  life,  conviction, 
into  their  hearers*  hearts.  Theirs  was  the  gift  of  tem- 
perament and  tone.  As  the  inspired  musician  plays 
upon  his  instrument,  so  they  on  theirs, — that  oldest  and 
most  sensitive  instruments  of  all,  the  human  heart. 

Dangeau's  voice  pealed  out  above  the  throng.  He 
took  the  biggest  words,  the  most  extravagant  phrases, 
the  cheapest  catchwords  of  the  day,  and  blended  them 
with  the  magic  of  his  voice  to  an  irresistible  spell. 
Suddenly  he  changed  his  key.  The  mob  was  listening, 
their  attention  gained, — he  could  give  them  something 
more  than  a  vague  magniloquence. 

"Frenchmen!"  he  said  earnestly,  "do  we  oppose  you 
with  arms?  Do  we  threaten,  do  we  resist  you?  No, 
for  I  am  most  certain  that  there  is  not  a  man  among 
you  who  would  be  turned  from  his  purpose  by  fear, — 
Frenchmen  do  not  feel  so  mean  a  sentiment, — but  is 
there  a  Frenchman  here  who  is  not  always  ready  to 
listen  to  the  sacred  dictates  of  reason?  Hear  me 
then." 

Somewhere  inside  Dangeau's  brain  a  little  mocking 
devil  laughed,  but  the  crowd  applauded, — a  fine  appetite 
for  flattery  characterises  the  monster  Demos, — it  was 
pleased,  and  through  its  thousand  mouths  it  clamor- 
ously demanded  more. 


56         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

Dangeau  was  ready  enough. 

•"I  stand  here  to  make  that  appeal  to  your  reason, 
which  I  am  assured  cannot  fail.  First,  I  would  point 
out  to  you  that  these  prisoners  are  not  only  prisoners  of 
ours,  but  hostages  of  France.  Look  at  our  frontiers: 
England  threatens  from  the  sea,  Austria  and  Spain  from 
the  south;  but  their  hands  are  tied,  Citizens,  their  hands 
are  tied.  They  can  threaten  and  bluster,  but  they  dare 
take  no  steps  which  would  lead  to  the  sacrifice  of  the 
tyrant  and  his  brood.  Wait  a  little,  my  friends;  wait  a 
little  until  our  brave  Dumouriez  has  won  us  a  battle 
or  two,  and  then  the  day  of  justice  may  dawn." 

He  paused  a  moment,  and,  gauging  his  audience, 
cried  quickly: 

"Vive  Dumouriez!     Vive  Tarmee!" 

Half  a  dozen  voices  echoed  him  at  first,  but  in  a 
minute  the  cry  was  taken  up  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd, 
and  came  rolling  to  the  front  in  a  storm  of  cheers. 

Dangeau  let  it  have  its  course,  then  motioned  for 
silence,  and  got  it. 

"France  owes  much  to  Dumouriez,"  he  said.  "We 
are  a  nation  of  soldiers,  and  we  can  appreciate  his  work. 
Let  us  support  him,  then,  and  do  nothing  to  embarrass 
him  in  his  absence.  Let  him  first  drive  the  invaders  of 
France  back  across  her  insulted  frontiers,  and  then — " 
He  was  interrupted  by  a  howl  of  applause,  but  he  got  the 
word  again  directly. 

"Citizens  of  Paris,"  he  called,  "your  good  name  is  in 
your  own  keeping.  They  are  some  who  would  be  glad 
to  see  it  lost.  There  are  some,  I  will  name  no  names, 
who  are  jealous  of  the  pre-eminence  of  our  beautiful 
Paris.  They  would  be  glad  of  an  excuse  for  moving  the 
seat  of  government.  I  name  no  names,  I  make  no 
accusations,  but  I  know  what  I  know," 


A  Carnival  of  Blood  57 

"Name  them,  name  them! — down  with  the  traitors!" 
shouted  the  mob. 

"They  are  those  who  bid  you  destroy  the  prisoners,'* 
returned  Dangeau  boldly.  "They  are  those  who  urge 
you  to  lay  violent  hands  on  a  trust  which  is  sacred, 
because  we  have  received  it  from  the  hands  of  the  people. 
They  are  those  who  wish  to  represent  you  to  the  world 
as  incapable  of  governing,  blind  with  passion.  Shall 
this  be  said?" 

A  shout  of  denial  went  up. 

"Citizens  of  Paris,  you  have  elected  us  your  repre- 
sentatives. You  have  reposed  in  us  this  sacred  trust. 
If  we  abuse  it,  you  have  your  remedy.  The  Nation 
which  elected  can  degrade;  the  men  who  have  placed 
in  us  their  confidence  can  withdraw  that  confidence ;  but 
whilst  we  hold  it,  we  will  deserve  it,  and  will  die  in  its 
defence." 

The  crowd  shook  with  applause,  but  there  were  dis- 
senting voices.  One  or  two  of  the  leaders  showed  dark, 
ominous  faces;  the  huge  man  with  the  head  scowled 
deepest,  he  seemed  about  to  speak,  and  eyed  Dangeau's 
chair  as  if  he  contemplated  annexing  it. 

None  knew  better  than  Dangeau  how  fickle  a  thing  is 
a  crowd's  verdict,  or  how  easily  it  might  yet  turn  against 
him.  He  laid  his  hand  on  the  grimy  shoulder  beside 
him. 

"To  show  the  confidence  that  we  repose  in  you,  I 
suggest  that  this  citizen,  and  five  of  his  colleagues,  shall 
be  admitted  into  the  garden ;  you  shall  march  round  the 
Tower  if  you  will,  and  it  will  be  seen  that  it  is  only 
your  own  patriotism  and  self-control  that  safeguards 
the  prisoners,  and  not  any  force  opposed  to  you. " 

This  proposal  aroused  great  enthusiasm.  Dangeau, 
who  was  fully  aware  of  the  risks  he  ran  in  making  it, 


58        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

hastily  whispered  to  two  of  the  Commissioners  sent  him 
in  response  to  his  appeal  to  the  Commune,  bidding  them 
remain  at  the  gate  and  keep  the  mob  in  a  good  temper, 
whilst  he  himself  accompanied  the  ringleaders. 

It  was  a  strange  and  horrifying  procession  that  took 
its  way  through  palace  rooms  which  had  looked  upon 
many  scenes  of  vice  but  none  so  awful  as  this. 

Dangeau,  a  guard  or  two,  six  filthy,  reeking  creatures, 
drawn  from  the  lowest  slums,  steeped  in  wickedness 
as  in  blood;  the  exquisite  head,  lovely  to  the  last,  set  on 
a  dripping  pike;  the  white,  insultec"  body,  stripped  to 
the  dust  and  mire  of  Paris;  the  frightful  odour  of  gore 
diffused  by  all,  made  up  a  total  effect  of  horror  un- 
paralleled in  any  age. 

To  the  last  day  of  Dangeau's  life  it  remained  a 
recurrent  nightmare.  He  was  young,  he  had  lived  a 
clean,  honest  life,  he  had  respected  women,  nourished 
his  soul  on  ideals,  and  now 

At  the  time  he  felt  nothing, — neither  disgust  nor 
horror,  nausea  nor  shame.  It  was  afterwards  that  two 
things  contended  for  possession  of  his  being — sheer 
physical  sickness,  and  a  torment  of  outraged  sensibility. 
He  had  vowed  himself  to  the  service  of  Humanity,  and 
he  had  seen  Humanity  desecrate  its  own  altar,  offering 
upon  it  a  shameful  and  bloody  sacrifice.  Just  now  it 
was  fortunate  that  feeling  was  in  abeyance,  and  that 
it  was  the  brain  in  Dangeau,  and  not  the  conscience, 
that  held  sway.  All  of  him,  except  that  lucid  brain, 
lay  torpid,  stunned,  asleep;  but  in  its  cells  thought 
flashed  on  thought,  seizing  here  an  impulse,  there  an 
instinct,  bending  them  to  the  will,  absorbing  them  in 
its  designs. 

All  the  way  the  butchers  talked.  One  of  them 
fancied  himself  a  wit.     Fortunately  for  posterity  his 


A  Carnival  of  Blood  59 

jests  have  not  been  preserved.  Another  gave  a  detailed 
and  succinct  account  of  every  person  murdered  by  him. 
A  third  sang  filthy  songs.  Dangeau's  brain  ordered 
him  not  to  offend  these  bestial  companions,  and  in  obedi- 
ence to  it  he  nodded,  questioned,  appeared  to  commend. 

Arrived  at  the  garden,  the  whole  company  took  up 
the  chorus  of  the  song,  and  began  to  march  round  the 
Tower,  holding  the  head  aloft  and  calling  on  the  Queen 
to  come  and  look  at  it. 

Those  of  the  workmen  who  still  remained  at  their 
posts  came  gaping  forward — some  of  them  joined  the 
tune;  the  excitement  rose,  and  cries  of  "The  Austrian, 
the  Austrian;  give  us  the  Austrian!"  began  to  be  heard. 

Within  there  was  a  dead  silence.  The  little  group 
of  prisoners  were  huddled  together  at  the  farther  side 
of  the  room.  Mme  Elizabeth  held  her  rosary,  and  her 
pale  lips  moved  incessantly.  One  of  the  Commissioners, 
Renault,  a  strong,  heavy-featured  man,  stood  impas- 
sively by  the  window  watching  the  progress  of  events, 
whilst  Cl^ry,  his  eager  young  face  flushed  with  excite- 
ment, was  trying  to  keep  up  a  conversation  with  the 
Princesses  in  order  to  prevent  the  terrifying  voices  from 
without  reaching  their  ears.  Although  no  one  could  be 
ignorant  of  what  was  passing,  they  seconded  his  attempts 
bravely.  Marie  Antoinette  was  the  most  successful. 
She  preserved  that  social  instinct  which  covers  un- 
der an  airy  web  the  grimmest  and  most  evident  facts. 
Death  was  such  a  fact, — vastly  impolite,  entirely  to 
be  ignored;  and  so  the  Queen  conversed  smilingly,  even 
whilst  the  mother's  eye  rested  in  anguish  upon  her 
children. 

Suddenly  even  her  composure  was  shattered. 

There  was  a  loud  shout  of  "Come  out,  Austrian! 
Look,  Austrian!"  and  a  shape  appeared  at  the  window 


6o        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

— a  head,  omen  of  imminent  tragedy.  That  head  had 
shared  the  Queen's  pillow,  those  drawn  lips  had  smiled 
for  her,  those  heavy  lids  closed  over  eyes  whose  beauty 
to  her  had  been  the  lovely,  frank  affection  which  beamed 
from  them.  Thus,  in  this  fearful  shape,  came  the 
intimation  of  that  friendship's  close. 

Clery  sprang  up  with  a  cry  of  "Don't  look!"  but  he 
was  too  late.  With  a  hoarse  sound,  half  cry,  half 
strained  release  of  breath  too  frantically  held,  the  Queen 
shrank  back. 

In  that  moment  her  face  went  grey  and  hollow,  her 
death-mask  showed  prophetic,  but  after  that  one  move- 
ment, that  one  cry,  she  sat  quite  still  and  made  no 
sound.  Mme  Roy  ale  had  fainted,  and  Elizabeth  knelt 
beside  her  shuddering  and  weeping. 

Renault's  great  shoulders  blocked  the  window,  and 
even  as  he  pressed  forward  the  head  was  withdrawn. 

Down  below  a  second  crisis  was  being  fought  through. 
Dangeau  began  to  feel  the  strain  of  that  scene  by  the 
Temple  gates;  his  nervous  energy  was  diminished,  and 
the  dreadful  six  were  straining  at  the  leash.  They 
howled  for  the  Austrian,  they  bellowed  forth  threats, 
they  vociferated.  One  of  them  caught  Dangeau  by 
the  shoulder  and  levelled  a  red  pike  at  his  head;  but  for 
a  moment  the  steely  composure  of  the  eyes  held  him, 
and  the  next  a  friendly  hand  struck  down  the  weapon. 

"It  is  Dangeau,  our  Dangeau,  the  people's  friend!" 
shouted  his  rescuer,  a  powerful  workman.  "I  am  of  his 
section,"  and  he  squeezed  him  in  a  grimy  embrace. 

Dangeau,  released,  sprang  on  a  heap  of  rubble,  and 
made  his  final  effort. 

"H^,  mes  braves!"  he  cried,  "it  is  growing  late;  half 
Paris  knows  your  deeds,  it  is  true,  but  how  many  are 
still   ignorant?    Will   you   let   darkness   overtake   you 


A  Carnival  of  Blood  6i 

with  your  trophies  yet  undisplayed?  Away,  let  the 
other  quarters  hear  of  your  triumphs.  Vaunt  them 
before  the  Palais  Royal,  and  let  the  Tuileries,  so  often 
defiled  by  the  Tyrant's  presence,  be  purified  now  by 
these  relics,  evidence  of  the  people's  power!" 

As  he  ceased,  his  words  were  taken  up  by  all  present. 

"To  the  Palais  Royal!  To  the  Tuileries!"  they 
howled. 

Dangeau,  not  only  saved,  but  a  hero, — so  fickle  a 
thing  is  the  mood  of  the  sovereign  people, — was  cheered, 
embraced,  carried  across  the  court-yard,  and  with  diffi- 
culty permitted  to  remain  behind;  whilst  the  whole 
mob,  singing,  shouting,  and  dancing,  took  its  frenzied 
course  towards  the  royal  palaces. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  DOUBTFUL  SAFETY 

MLLE  DE  ROCHAMBEAU  knelt  by  her  open 
window.  She  had  been  praying,  but  for  a  long 
time  her  lips  had  not  moved,  and  now  it  seemed  as  if 
their  numbness  had  invaded  her  heart,  and  lay  there 
deadening  fear,  emotion,  sorrow,  all, — all  except  that 
heavy  beating,  to  which  she  listened  half  unconsciously, 
as  though  it  were  a  sound  from  some  world  which  hardly 
concerned  her. 

She  had  not  left  the  little  room  at  all.  On  the  first 
day  she  had  been  put  off  civilly  enough. 

"Rest  a  little,  Ma'mselle,  rest  a  little;  to-morrow  I 
will  make  my  sister  a  little  visit,  and  you  shall  accom- 
pany me.  To-day  I  am  busy,  and  without  me  you 
would  not  be  admitted  to  the  prison." 

But  when  to-morrow  came,  there  were  at  first  black 
looks,  then  impatient  words,  and  finally  the  key  turned 
in  the  lock  and  hours  of  terrifying  solitude.  The  one 
small  window  overlooked  a  dark  and  squalid  street  where 
the  refuse  of  the  neighbourhood  festered.  It  was  noisy 
and  malodorous,  and  she  sickened  at  every  sense.  The 
sounds,  the  smells,  the  sight  of  the  wizened,  wicked- 
looking  children,  who  fought,  and  swore,  and  scrabbled 
in  the  noisome  gutter  below,  all  added  to  her  growing 
apprehension. 

62 


A  Doubtful  Safety  63 

Closing  the  cracked  pane  she  retreated  to  the  farther 
corner  of  the  attic,  and  again  slow  hours  went  by. 

About  noon  a  distant  roar  startled  her  to  the  window 
once  more.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen,  but  the  sound 
came  again,  and  yet  again;  increasing  each  time  in 
violence,  and  becoming  at  last  a  heavy,  continuous 
boom. 

There  is  scarcely  anything  so  immediately  terrifying 
as  that  dull  mutter  of  a  city  in  tumult.  Mile  de 
Rochambeau's  smooth  years  supplied  her  with  no  ex- 
perience by  which  to  measure  the  threat  of  that  far 
uproar,  and  yet  every  nerve  in  her  body  thrilled  to  it 
and  cried  danger!  It  was  then  that  she  began  to  pray. 
The  afternoon  wore  on,  and  she  grew  faint  as  well  as 
frightened.  Rosalie  Leboeuf  had  set  coffee  and  coarse 
bread  before  her  in  the  early  morning,  but  that  was  now 
many  hours  since. 

The  sun  was  near  to  setting  when  a  loud  shouting 
arose  in  the  street  below,  shocking  her  from  the  dizzy 
quiescence  into  which  she  had  fallen.  Looking  out,  she 
saw  that  the  children  had  scattered,  pushed  aside  by 
rapidly  gathering  groups  of  their  elders.  Every  house 
appeared  to  be  disgorging  an  incredible  number  of  people, 
and  in  their  midst  swayed  a  very  large  man,  extremely 
drunk,  and  half  naked.  Such  clothes  as  he  possessed 
appeared  to  have  been  torn  and  rent  in  a  most  amazing 
manner,  and  scraps  of  them  depended  fantastically 
from  naked  shoulders  and  battered  belt.  His  swarthy 
head  retained  its  bonnet  rouge,  whose  original  colour 
was  dyed,  here  and  there,  a  deeper  and  more  portentous 
crimson. 

He  waved  great  windmills  of  arms,  and  talked  loudly 
in  a  thick  guttural  voice,  adding  strange  gestures  and 
stranger  oaths.     A  sort  of  fascination  kept  Mademoi- 


64        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

selle's  eyes  riveted  upon  him,  and  presently  she  began  to 
catch  words — phrases. 

"Dear  holy  Virgin!  what  was  he  saying? — Im- 
possible— impossible,  impossible!"  And  then  quite 
suddenly  her  shocked  brain  yielded  to  the  truth.  There 
had  been  a  massacre  of  the  prisoners — this  man  had 
been  there;  he  was  recounting  his  exploits,  boasting 
of  the  number  he  had  killed. 

"Mother  most  merciful,  protect!  save! — "  But 
the  ghastly  catalogue  ran  on.  They  say  that  in  those 
days  many  claimed  the  murderer's  praise  who  had  never 
acted  the  murderer's  part.  Men  with  hands  innocent 
of  blood  daubed  themselves  horribly,  and  went  home 
boasting  of  unimaginable  horrors,  guiltless  the  while 
as  the  children  who  hung  eagerly  on  the  tale.  There 
was  a  madness  abroad, — a  fearful,  epidemic  madness 
that  seized  its  thousands,  and  time  and  again  set  Paris 
reeking  like  a  shambles  and  laughing  wantonly  in  the 
face  of  outraged  Europe. 

Whether  Jean  Michel  were  innocent  or  not,  his  con- 
versation was  equally  horrifying.  Mile  de  Rochambeau 
listened  to  it,  shaking.  The  things  said  were  incon- 
ceivable, and  mercifully  some  of  them  passed  over  her 
innocence  leaving  it  unbruised,  save  for  a  gradually 
accumulating  weight  of  horror. 

Suddenly  she  caught  her  cousin's  name — "that  wan- 
ton, the  Montargis,  damned  Austrian  spy,"  the  man 
called  her,  and  added  Selincourt's  name  to  hers  with 
a  foul  oath. 

"I  struck  them,  I!  My  pike  was  the  first!"  he 
shouted.  Then  drawing  a  scrap  of  reeking  linen  from 
his  belt  he  waved  it  aloft,  proclaiming,  "This  is  her 
blood!"  and  looked  around  him  for  applause. 

It  was  too  much.     A  gasp  broke  from  the  girl's  rigid 


A  Doubtful  Safety  65 

lips,  a  damp  dew  from  her  brow.  The  twilight  quivered 
— turned  to  darkness — then  broke  into  a  million  sparks 
of  flame,  and  a  merciful  oblivion  overtook  her. 

Jean  Michel  may  be  left  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
Louison  his  wife,  a  little  woman  and  a  venomous,  having 
that  command  over  her  husband  which  one  sees  in  the 
small  wives  of  large  men.  Having  haled  him  home,  she 
burned  his  precious-  trophy,  and  poured  much  cold 
water  on  his  hot  and  muddled  head.  Afterwards  she 
gave  her  tongue  free  course,  and  we  may  consider  that 
Jean  Michel  had  his  deserts. 

When  Mile  de  Rochambeau  shuddered  back  again  to 
consciousness,  the  room  was  dark.  Outside,  quiet 
reigned,  and  a  beautiful  blue  dusk,  just  tinged  with 
starlight.  She  dragged  herself  up  into  a  half-sitting, 
half -kneeling  position,  and  looked  long  and  tremblingly 
into  the  tranquil  depths  above.  All  was  peace  and  a 
cool  purity,  after  the  red  horror  of  the  day.  The  lights 
of  the  city  looked  friendly;  they  spoke  of  homes,  of 
children,  of  decent  comfort  and  ordered  lives,  and  over 
all  brooded  the  great  sapphire  glooms  of  the  darkening 
ether  and  the  lights  of  the  houses  of  God.  A  strange 
calm  slid  into  her  soul — the  hour  held  her — life  and  death 
were  twin  points  in  a  fathomless,  endless  stretch  of 
peace  eternal. 

The  flesh  no  longer  enchained  her — weak  with  shock 
and  fasting,  it  released  its  grip,  and  the  freer  spirit 
peered  forth  into  the  immensities. 

Aline's  body  lay  motionless,  but  her  soul  floated  in 
a  calm  sea  of  light. 

How  long  this  lasted  she  did  not  know,  but  presently 

she  became  aware  that  she  was  listening  to  some  rather 

distant   sound.     It   came   slowly  nearer,   and   resolved 

itself  into  a  man's  heavy  step,  which  mounted  the  narrow 

5 


66         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

stairway,  and  paused  ominously  beside  her  door.  Some 
of  the  strange  calm  from  which  she  came  still  wrapped 
her,  but  her  heart  began  to  beat  piteously.  Her 
hearing  seemed  preternaturally  acute,  and  she  was 
aware  of  a  pause,  of  one  or  two  quickly  drawn 
breaths,  and  then  the  dull  sound  of  a  groan — such 
a  sound  as  may  come  from  a  man  utterly  weary  and 
forespent  when  he  imagines  himself  alone.  The 
pause,  the  groan  were  over  even  as  she  listened,  and 
the  door  opposite  hers  closed  sharply  upon  Jacques 
Dangeau. 

A  throb  of  relief  shook  her  back  into  normal  humanity. 
It  was,  of  course,  the  man  she  had  seen  on  the  stairs,  and 
all  at  once  she  was  conscious  of  immense  fatigue;  her 
head  sank  lower  and  lower,  the  darkness  closed  upon 
her,  and  she  slept. 

Rosalie  stumbled  over  her  an  hour  later,  and  took 
fright  when  the  girl  just  stirred,  and  no  more.  She  had 
intended  her  young  aristocrat  to  pass  a  chastening  day. 
Fasting  was  good  for  the  soul,  it  rendered  young  girls 
amenable,  and  Rosalie  wished  to  come  to  terms  with  this 
friendless  but  not  unmoneyed  demoiselle  whom  chance, 
luck,  or  some  other  god  of  her  rather  mixed  beliefs  had 
thrown  her  way.  She  had  not,  however,  meant  to  leave 
the  girl  quite  so  long  without  food,  but  sallying  out  in 
quest  of  news  she  had  been  detained  by  her  trembling 
sister,  whose  timid  soul  saw  no  safety  anywhere  in  all 
red,  raving  Paris. 

Rosalie  set  down  her  light  and  bent  over  the  sleeping 
girl.  A  shrewd  glance  showed  her  a  drawn  fatigue  of 
feature  and  a  collapsed  discomfort  of  attitude  beyond 
anything  she  was  prepared  for. 

"Tett,  tett!"  she  grunted;  "that  Michel— could  she 
have  heard  him?     It  is  certainly  possible.     Well,  well, 


A  Doubtful  Safety  67 

there  will  be  no  talk  to-night,  that  *s  a  sure  thing. 
Here,  Ma'mselle!  Ma'mselle!" 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  opened  her  eyes,  but  only  to 
close  them  again.  The  lids  hung  half  shut,  and  under 
them  lay  heavy  violet  streaks.  This  was  slumber  that 
was  half  a  swoon,  and  with  a  shrug  of  her  vast  shoulders, 
and  a  mental  objurgation  of  the  tenderness  of  aristocrats, 
Rosalie  set  herself  to  getting  a  cup  of  strong  hot  broth 
down  the  girl's  throat. 

Mademoiselle  moaned  and  gasped,  but  when  a  sip  or 
two  had  been  chokingly  swallowed,  she  raised  her  head 
and  took  the  warm  drink  eagerly.  She  was  about  to 
sink  back  again  into  her  old  position  when  she  felt 
strong  arms  about  her,  and  capable  hands  loosened  her 
dress  and  pulled  off  shoes  and  stockings.  With  a  sigh 
of  content,  she  felt  herself  laid  down  on  the  bed,  her 
head  touched  a  pillow,  some  one  covered  her,  and  she 
fell  again  upon  a  deep,  deep,  dreamless  sleep. 

It  was  high  noon  before  she  awoke,  and  then  it  was 
to  a  sense  of  bewildered  fatigue  beyond  anything  she 
had  ever  experienced.  She  lay  quite  still,  and  watched 
the  little  patch  of  sky  which  showed  above  the  roofs  of 
the  houses  opposite.  It  was  very  blue,  and  small 
glittering  clouds  raced  quickly  across  it.  Slowly, 
slowly  as  she  looked,  yesterday  came  back  to  her,  but 
with  a  strange  remoteness,  as  if  it  had  all  happened  too 
long  ago  to  weep  for.  A  great  shock  takes  us  out  of 
time  and  space.  Emotion  crystallises  and  ceases  to 
flow  along  its  accustomed  channels.  Aline  de  Rocham- 
beau was  never  to  forget  the  experience  she  had  just 
passed  through,  but  for  the  time  being  it  seemed  too 
far  away  to  pierce  the  numbness  round  her  heart. 

A  cry  in  the  street  did  something;  her  cheek  paled, 
and  Rosalie  coming  noisily  in  found  her  sitting  up  in 


68         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

bed  with  wide,  frightened  eyes.  She  caught  at  the 
woman's  arm  and  spoke  in  a  sort  of  hurried  whisper. 

"Ah,  Madame,  is  it  true?  For  Heaven's  love  tell 
me!  Or  have  I  had  some  terrible  dream?"  and  her 
voice  sank,  as  if  the  sound  of  it  terrified  her. 

Rosalie's  fat  shoulders  went  shrugging  up  to  Rosalie's 
thick,  red  ears. 

"Is  what  true?"  she  asked.  "It  is  certainly  true 
that  you  have  slept  fourteen  hours,  no  less ;  long  enough 
to  dream  anything.  They  called  it  laziness  when  I  was 
young,  my  girl." 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  joined  both  hands  about  her 
wrist.  "Tell  me — only  tell  me,  Madame — I  heard — 
oh,  God! — I  heard  a  man  in  the  street — he  said" — 
shuddering — "he  said  the  prisoners  were  all  murdered 
— and  my  cousin — oh,  my  poor  cousin!"  Words 
brought  her  tears,  and  she  covered  her  face  from  Rosa- 
lie's convincing  nod. 

"As  to  all  the  prisoners,  for  that  I  cannot  answer, 
but  certainly  there  are  some  hundreds  less  of  the  pesti- 
lent aristocrats  than  there  were.  As  to  your  cousin, 
the  ci-devant  Marquise  de  Montargis,  she  's  as  dead 
as  mutton." 

Aline  looked  up — she  was  not  stupid,  and  this  wo- 
man's altered  tone  was  confirmation  enough  without 
any  further  words.  Two  days  ago,  it  had  been  "Ma'm- 
selle, "  and  the  respectful  demeanour  of  a  servant, 
smiles  and  smooth  words  had  met  her,  and  now 
that  rough  "my  girl"  and  these  brutal  words! 
Rosalie  Leboeuf  was  no  pioneer.  Had  some  terrible 
change  not  taken  place,  she  would  never  have 
dared  to  speak  and  look  as  she  was  looking  and  speak- 
ing now. 

Mademoiselle  had  not  the  Rochambeau  blood  for 


A  Doubtful  Safety  69 

nothing.  She  drew  herself  up,  looked  gravely  in  the 
woman's  face,  and  said  in  a  fine,  cold  voice: 

"I  understand,  Madame.  Is  it  permitted  to  ask 
what  you  propose  to  do  with  me?" 

Rosalie  stared  insolently.  Then  planting  herself 
deliberately  on  a  chair,  she  observed: 

"It  is  certainly  permitted  to  ask,  my  little  aristocrat 
— certainly;  but  I  should  advise  fewer  airs  and  graces 
to  a  woman  who  has  saved  your  life  twice  over,  and  that 
at  the  risk  of  her  own." 

Mademoiselle  was  silent,  and  Rosalie  took  up  her 
parable.  "Where  would  you  have  been  by  now,  if  I 
had  not  brought  you  home  with  me?  There  's  many  a 
citizen  who  would  have  been  glad  to  find  a  cage  for  a 
pretty  stray  bird  like  you,  and  how  would  that  have 
suited  you — eh?  Better  rough  words  from  respectable 
Rosalie  Leboeuf  than  shameful  kisses  from  Citizen 
Such-a-one.  And  yesterday — if  I  had  whispered  yes- 
terday, '  Montargis  is  dead,  but  there 's  a  chick  of 
the  breed  roosting  in  my  upper  room,'  as  I  might  very 
well  have  done,  very  well  indeed,  and  kept  your  money 
into  the  bargain — what  then.  Miss  Mealy-mouth?  Have 
you  a  fancy  for  being  stripped  and  dragged  at  a  cart's 
tail  through  Paris,  or  would  you  relish  being  made  to 
drink  success  to  the  Revolution  in  a  brimming  mug 
of  aristocrats'  blood?  Eh!  I  could  tell  you  tales,  my 
girl,  such  tales  that  you  'd  never  sleep  again,  and  that 's 
what  I  've  saved  you  from,  and  do  I  get  thanks — 
gratitude?     Tush!  was  that  ever  the  nobles'  way?" 

"Madame — I  am — gratefiil,"  said  Mademoiselle 
faintly.  Her  lips  were  ashen,  and  the  breath  came 
with  a  gasp  between  every  word. 

"Grateftd — yes,  indeed,  I  should  think  you  were 
grateful,"  responded  Rosalie,  her  keen  eyes  on  the  girl's 


70        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

ghastly  face.  With  a  little  nod,  she  decided  that  she 
had  frightened  her  enough.  "I  want  more  than  your 
'Madame,  I  'm  grateful,'  "  and  as  .she  mimicked  the 
faltering  tones  the  blood  ran  back  into  Mademoiselle's 
white  cheeks.  ''So  far  we  have  talked  sentiment," 
she  continued,  with  a  complete  change  of  manner. 
Her  brutality  slipped  from  her,  and  she  became  the 
bargaining  bourgeoise. 

"Let  us  come  to  business." 

"With  all  my  heart,  Madame." 

"Tut — no  Madame — Citoyenne,  or  Rosalie.  Madame 
smells  of  treason,  disaffection,  what  not.  What  money 
have  you?" 

"Only  what  I  showed  you  yesterday." 

"But  you  could  get  more?" 

"I  do  not  think  so,  I  know  nothing  of  my  affairs — 
but  there  was  a  good  deal  in  that  bag.  I  put  it — yes, 
I  'm  sure  I  did — under  the  pillow.  Oh,  Madame,  my 
money  's  not  here!     The  bag  is  gone!" 

"Te!  te!  t6!"  went  Rosalie's  tongue  against  the 
roof  of  her  mouth ;  "gone  it  is,  and  for  a  very  good  reason, 
my  Httle  cabbage,  because  Rosalie  Leboeuf  took  it!" 

"Madame!" 

"Ma'mselle!"  mimicked  the  rough  voice.  "It  is 
the  little  present  that  Ma'mselle  makes  me — the  token 
of  her  gratitude.  Hein!  do  you  say  anything  against 
that?" 

Mademoiselle  was  silent.  She  was  reflecting  that 
she  still  had  her  pearls,  and  she  put  a  timid  hand  to 
her  bosom.  A  moment  later,  she  sank  back  trembling 
upon  her  pillow.  The  pearls  were  gone.  It  was  not 
for  nothing  that  Rosalie  had  undressed  her  the  night 
before.  She  bit  her  lip,  constraining  herself  to  silence; 
and  Rosalie,  twinkling  maliciously,  maintained  the  same 


A  Doubtful  Safety  71 

reserve.  She  was  neither  a  cruel  nor  a  brutal  woman, 
though  she  could  appear  both,  if  she  had  an  end  to 
gain,  as  she  had  now. 

She  meant  Mile  de  Rochambeau  no  harm,  and 
honestly  considered  that  she  had  earned  both  gold 
and  pearls.  Indeed,  who  shall  say  that  she  had  not? 
Girls  had  to  be  managed,  and  were  much  easier  to 
deal  with  when  they  had  been  well  frightened.  When 
she  was  well  in  hand,  Rosalie  would  be  kind  enough, 
but  just  now,  a  touch  of  the  spur,  a  flick  of  the  whip, 
was  what  was  required — and  yet  not  too  much,  for 
times  changed  so  rapidly,  and  who  knew  how  long 
the  reign  of  Liberty  would  last.^*  She  must  not  overdo 
it. 

"Well  now,  Citoyenne, "  she  said  suddenly,  "let  us 
see  where  we  are.  You  came  to  Paris  ten  days  ago. 
Who  brought  you?" 

"The  Intendant  and  his  wife,"  said  Mademoiselle. 

"And  they  are  still  in  Paris?"  (The  devil  take  this 
Intendant !) 

"No;  they  returned  after  two  days.  I  think  now 
that  they  were  frightened." 

"  Very  likely.  Worthy,  sensible  people ! "  said  Rosalie, 
with  a  puff  of  relief.  "And  you  came  to  the  Montargis? 
Well,  she  's  dead.     Are  you  betrothed?" 

Aline  turned  a  shade  paler.  How  far  away  seemed 
that  betrothal  kiss  which  she  had  rubbed  impatiently 
from  her  reluctant  hand! 

"I  was  fiancee  to  M.  de  S^lincourt." 

"That  one?  Well,  he's  dead,  and  damned  too,  if 
he  has  his  deserts,"  commented  Rosalie.  "Hm,  hm — 
and  you  knew  no  one  else  in  Paris?" 

"Only  Mme  de  Maille — she  remembered  my  mother." 

"An  old  story  that — she  is  dead  too,"  said  Rosalie 


72         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

composedly.  "In  effect,  it  appears  that  you  have  no 
friends;  they  are  all  dead." 

Aline  shrank  a  little,  but  did  not  exclaim.  In  this 
nightmare-existence  upon  which  she  had  entered,  it 
was  as  natural  that  dreadful  things  should  happen  as 
until  two  days  ago  it  had  seemed  to  her  young  optimism 
impossible. 

Rosalie  pursued  the  conversation. 

"Yes,  they  are  all  dead.  I  gave  myself  the  trouble 
of  going  to  see  my  sister  this  morning  on  purpose  to 
find  out.  Marie  is  a  poor  soft  creature;  she  cried  and 
sobbed  as  if  she  had  lost  her  dearest  friends,  and  Bault, 
the  great  hulk,  looked  as  white  as  chalk.  I  always 
say  I  should  make  a  better  gaoler  myself — not  that  I  'm 
not  sorry  for  them,  mind  you,  with  all  that  place  to 
get  clean  again,  and  blood,  as  every  one  knows,  the  work 
of  the  world  to  get  out  of  things. " 

Mademoiselle  shuddered. 

"Oh!"  she  breathed  protestingly,  and  then  added  in 
haste,  "They  are  all  dead,  Madame,  all  my  friends,  and 
what  am  I  to  do?" 

Rosalie  crossed  her  arms  and  swayed  approvingly. 
Here  was  a  suitable  frame  of  mind  at  last — very  differ- 
ent from  the  hoity-toity  airs  of  the  beginning. 

"Hein!  that  is  the  question,  and  I  answer  it  this 
way.  You  can  stay  here,  under  my  respectable  roof, 
until  your  friends  come  forward;  but  of  course  you 
must  work,  or  how  will  my  rent  be  paid?  A  mere 
trifle,  it  is  true,  but  still  something;  and  besides  the  rent 
there  will  be  your  menage  to  make.  For  one  week 
I  will  feed  you,  but  after  that  it  is  your  affair,  and 
not  mine.  Even  a  white  slip  of  a  girl  like  you  re- 
quires food.  The  question  is,  what  can  you  do  to  earn 
it?" 


A  Doubtful  Safety  73 

Mademoiselle  de  Rochambeau  coloured. 

"I  can  embroider,"  she  said  hesitatingly.  "I  helped 
to  work  an  altar  cloth  for  the  Convent  chapel  last 
year." 

Rosalie  gave  a  coarse  laugh. 

"Eh — altar  cloths!  What  is  the  good  of  that? 
Soon  there  will  be  no  altars  to  put  them  on!" 

"I  learned  to  embroider  muslin  too,"  said  Mademoi- 
selle hastily.  '*I  could  work  fine  stuffs,  for  fichus,  or 
caps,  or  handkerchiefs,  perhaps." 

Rosalie  considered. 

"Well,  that  's  better,  though  you  '11  find  it  hard  to  fill 
even  your  pinched  stomach  out  of  such  work ;  but  we  can 
see  how  it  goes.  I  will  bring  you  muslin  and  thread, 
and  you  shall  work  a  piece  for  me  to  see.  I  know  a 
woman  who  would  buy  on  my  recommendation,  if  it 
were  well  done." 

"They  said  I  did  it  well,"  said  Mademoiselle  meekly. 
Her  eyes  smarted  suddenly,  and  she  thought  with  a 
desperate  yearning  of  comfortable  Sister  Marie  Made- 
leine, or  even  the  severe  Soeur  Marie  M^diatrice. 
How  far  away  the  Convent  stillness  seemed,  and  how 
desirable ! 

"Good,"  said  Rosalie;  "then  that  is  settled.  For 
the  rest,  I  cannot  have  Mile  de  Rochambeau  lodging 
with  me.  That  will  not  go  now.  What  is  your  Christ- 
ian name?" 

"Aline  Marie." 

"Aline,  but  no — that  would  give  every  donkey  some- 
thing to  bray  over.  Marie  is  better — any  one  may  be 
Marie.  It  is  my  sister's  name,  and  my  niece's,  and  was 
my  mother's.  It  is  a  good  name.  Well,  then,  you  are 
the  Citoyenne  Marie  Roche." 

Mademoiselle  repeated  it,  her  lip  curling  a  little. 


74        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Fi  donc^-you  must  not  be  proud,"  remarked 
Rosalie  the  observant.  "You  are  Marie  Roche,  you 
understand,  a  simple  country  girl,  and  Marie  Roche 
must  not  be  proud.  Neither  must  she  wear  a  fine 
muslin  robe  and  a  silk  petticoat  or  a  fichu  trimmed 
with  lace  from  Valenciennes.  I  have  brought  you  a 
bundle  of  clothes,  and  you  may  be  glad  you  had  Rosalie 
Leboeuf  to  drive  the  bargain  for  you.  Two  shifts,  these 
good  warm  stockings,  a  neat  gown,  with  stuff  for  another, 
to  say  nothing  of  comb  and  brush,  and  for  it  all  you 
need  not  pay  a  sou!  Your  own  clothes  in  exchange, 
that  is  all.  That  is  what  I  call  a  bargain!  Brush  the 
powder  from  your  hair  and  put  on  these  clothes,  and 
I  '11  warrant  you  '11  be  safe  enough,  as  long  as  you  keep 
a  still  tongue  and  do  as  I  bid  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mademoiselle,  with  an  effort. 
Even  her  inexperience  was  aware  that  she  was  being 
cheated,  but  she  had  sufficient  intelligence  to  know 
herself  completely  in  the  woman's  power,  and  enough 
self-control  to  bridle  her  tongue. 

Rosalie,  watching  her,  saw  the  struggle,  inwardly 
commended  the  victory,  and  with  a  final  panegyric  on 
her  own  skill  at  a  bargain  she  departed,  and  was  to  be 
heard  stumping  heavily  down  the  creaking  stair. 

As  soon  as  she  was  alone  Aline  sprang  out  of  bed. 
Most  of  her  own  clothes  had  been  removed,  she  found, 
and  she  turned  up  her  nose  a  little  at  the  coarse  substi- 
tutes. There  was  no  help  for  it,  however,  and  on  they 
went.  Then  came  a  great  brushing  of  hair,  which  was 
left  at  last  powderless  and  glossy,  and  twisted  into  a 
simple  knot.  Finally  she  put  on  the  petticoat,  of  dark 
blue  striped  stuff,  and  the  clean  calico  gown.  There 
was  a  tiny  square  of  looking-glass  in  the  room,  cracked 
relic  of  some  former  occupant,  and  Aline  peeped  curi- 


A  Doubtful  Safety  7S 

ously  into  it  when  her  toilette  was  completed.  A  young 
girl's  interest  in  her  own  appearance  dies  very  hard,  and 
it  must  be  confessed  that  the  discovery  that  her  new 
dress  was  far  from  unbecoming  cheered  her  not  a  little. 
She  even  smiled  as  she  put  on  the  coarse  white  cap,  and 
turned  her  head  this  way  and  that  to  catch  the  side 
view ;  but  the  smile  faded  suddenly,  and  the  next  moment 
she  was  on  her  knees,  reproaching  herself  for  a  hard 
heart,  and  praying  with  all  dutiful  earnestness  for  the 
repose  of  her  cousin's  soul. 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  INNER  CONFLICT 

SEPTEMBER  passed  on  its  eventful  way.  Dangeau 
was  very  busy;  there  were  many  meetings,  much 
to  be  discussed,  written,  arranged,  and  on  the  twenty- 
first  the  Assembly  was  dissolved,  and  the  National 
Convention  proclaimed  the  Republic. 

Dangeau  as  an  elected  member  of  the  Convention 
had  his  hands  full  enough,  and  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  writing  done  in  the  little  room  under  the  roof.  Some- 
times, as  he  came  and  went,  he  passed  his  pale  fellow- 
lodger,  and  noted  half  unconsciously  that  as  the  days 
went  on  she  grew  paler  still.  Her  gaze,  proud  yet 
timid,  as  she  stood  aside  on  the  little  landing,  or  passed 
him  on  the  narrow  stair,  appealed  to  a  heart  which  was 
really  tender. 

"She  is  only  a  child,  and  she  looks  as  if  she  had 
not  enough  to  eat,"  he  muttered  to  himself  once 
or  twice,  and  then  found  to  his  half -shamed  an- 
noyance that  the  child's  face  was  between  him  and 
his    work. 

"You  are  a  fool,  my  good  friend,"  he  remarked,  and 
plunged  again  into  his  papers. 

He  burned  a  good  deal  of  midnight  oil  in  those  days, 
and  Rosalie  Leboeuf,  whose  tough  heart  really  kept  a 
soft  corner  for  him,  upbraided  him  for  it. 

76 


The  Inner  Conflict  77 

"Tiens!"  she  said  one  day,  about  the  middle  of 
October,  "tiens!     The  Citizen  is  killing  himself." 

Dangeau,  sitting  on  the  counter,  between  two  piles 
of  apples,  laughed  and  shook  his  head. 

"But  no,  my  good  Rosalie — you  will  not  be  rid  of  me 
so  easily,  I  can  assure  you. " 

"H'm — you  are  as  white  as  a  girl, — as  white  as  your 
neighbour  upstairs,  and  she  looks  more  like  snow  than 
honest  flesh  and  blood.'* 

Dangeau,  who  had  been  wondering  how  he  should 
introduce  this  very  subject,  swung  his  legs  nonchalantly 
and  whistled  a  stave  before  replying.  The  girl's  change 
of  dress  had  not  escaped  him,  and  he  was  conscious, 
and  half  ashamed  of,  his  curiosity.  Rosalie  plainly 
knew  all,  and  with  a  little  encouragement  would  tell 
what  she  knew. 

"Who  is  she,  then,  Citoyenne?"  he  asked  lightly. 

*'Eh!  the  Citizen  has  seen  her — a  slip  of  a  white 
girl.  Her  name  is  Marie  Roche,  and  she  earns  just 
enough  to  keep  body  and  soul  together  by  embroid- 
ery." 

Dangeau  nodded  his  head.  He  did  not  understand 
why  he  wished  to  gossip  with  Rosalie  about  this  girl, 
but  an  idle  mood  was  on  him,  and  he  let  it  carry  him 
whither  it  would. 

"Why,  yes,  Citoyenne,  I  know  all  that,  but  that 
does  n't  answer  my  question  at  all.  Who  is  Marie 
Roche?" 

Rosalie  glanced  round.  Indiscretion  was  as  dear  to 
her  soul  as  to  another  woman's,  and  it  was  not  every 
day  that  one  had  the  chance  of  talking  scandal  with 
a  Deputy.  To  do  her  justice,  she  was  aware  that 
Dangeau  was  a  safe  enough  recipient  of  her  confidences, 
so  after  assuring  herself  that  there  was  no  one  within 


78         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

earshot,  she  abandoned  herself  to  the  enjoyment  of  the 
moment. 

"Aha!  The  Citizen  is  clever,  he  is  not  to  be  taken 
in!  Only  figure  to  yourself,  then.  Citizen,  that  I  find 
this  girl,  a  veritable  aristocrat,  weeping  at  the  gates  of 
La  Force,  weeping,  mon  Dieu,  because  they  will  not 
keep  her  there  with  her  friends!  Singular,  is  it  not? 
I  bring  her  home,  I  am  a  mother  to  her,  and  next  day, 
pff — all  her  friends  are  massacred,  and  what  can  I  do? 
I  have  a  charitable  heart,  I  keep  her, — the  marmot 
does  not  eat  much.'* 

Dangeau  enjoyed  his  Rosalie. 

"She  earns  nothing,  then?"  he  observed,  with  a  sub- 
dued twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Oh,  a  bagatelle.  I  assure  you  it  does  not  suffice 
for  the  rent;  but  I  have  a  good  heart,  I  do  not  let  her 
starve" ;  and  Rosalie  regarded  the  Deputy  with  an  air  of 
modesty  virtue  that  sat  oddly  upon  her  large,  creased  face. 

"Excellent  Rosalie!"  he  said,  with  a  soft,  half-- 
mocking  inflection. 

She  bridled  a  little. 

"Ah,  if  the  Citizen  knew!"  she  said,  with  a  toss  of 
the  head,  which,  aimimg  at  the  arch,  merely  achieved 
the  elephantine. 

"If  it  is  a  question  of  the  Citoyenne's  virtues,  who 
does  not  know  them?"  said  Dangeau.  He  made  her 
a  little  bow,  and  kept  the  sarcasm  out  of  his  voice  this 
time.  He  was  thinking  of  his  little  neighbour's  look 
of  starved  endurance,  and  contrasting  her  mentally 
with  the  well-fed  Rosalie.  He  had  not  much  confidence 
in  the  promptings  of  the  latter's  heart  if  they  countered 
the  interests  of  her  pocket.  Suddenly  a  plan  came  into 
his  head,  and  before  he  had  time  to  consider  its  possible 
drawbacks,  he  found  himself  saying : 


The  Inner  Conflict  79 

"Tell  me,  then,  Citoyenne,  does  this  Marie  Roche 
write  a  good  hand?" 

"H'm — well,  I  suppose  the  nuns  in  that  Convent  of 
hers  taught  her  something,  and  as  it  was  neither  baking 
nor  brewing,  it  may  have  been  reading  and  writing," 
said  Rosalie  sharply.  "Does  the  Citizen  wish  her  to 
write  him  a  billet-doux?" 

To  Dangeau's  annoyed  surprise  he  felt  the  colour 
rise  to  his  cheeks  as  he  answered: 

"  Du  tout,  Citoyenne,  but  I  do  require  an  amanuensis, 
and  I  thought  your  prot^g^e  might  earn  my  money  as 
well  as  another.  I  imagine  that  much  fine  embroidery 
cannot  be  done  in  the  evenings,  and  it  would  be  then 
that  I  should  require  her  services. " 

"The  girl  is  an  aristocrat,"  said  Rosalie  suspi- 
ciously. 

Dangeau  laughed. 

"Are  you  afraid  she  will  contaminate  me?"  he  asked 
gaily.  ' '  I  shall  set  her  to  copy  my  book  on  the  principles 
of  Liberty.  Desmoulins  says  that  every  child  in  France 
should  get  it  by  heart,  and  though  I  do  not  quite  look 
for  that,  I  hope  there  will  be  some  to  whom  it  means 
what  it  has  meant  for  me.  Your  little  aristocrat  shall 
write  it  out  fair  for  the  press,  and  we  shall  see  if  it  will 
not  convert  her. " 

"It  will  take  too  much  of  her  time,"  said  Rosalie 
sulkily. 

"A  few  hours  in  the  evening.  It  will  save  her  eyes 
and  pay  better  than  that  embroidery  of  hers,  which  as 
you  say  barely  keeps  body  and  soul  together.  I  hope 
we  shall  be  able  to  knit  them  a  little  more  closely,  for  at 
present  there  seems  to  be  a  likelihood  of  a  permanent 
divorce  between  them.  " 

Rosalie  looked  a  little  alarmed. 


8o        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Yes,  she  looks  ill,"  she  muttered;  "and  as  you  say- 
it  would  be  only  for  an  hour  or  two." 

"Yes,  for  the  present.  I  am  out  all  day,  and  it  is 
necessary  that  I  should  be  there.  I  write  so  badly,  you 
see;  your  little  friend  would  soon  get  lost  amongst  my 
blots  if  she  were  alone,  but  if  I  am  there,  she  asks  a 
question,  I  answer  it — and  so  the  work  goes  on. " 

"H'm — "  said  Rosalie;  "and  the  pay,  Citizen?" 

Dangeau  got  down  from  the  counter,  laughing. 

"Citoyenne  Roche  and  I  will  settle  that,"  he  said,  a 
little  maliciously;  "but  perhaps,  my  good  Rosalie,  you 
would  speak  to  her  and  tell  her  what  I  want?  It  would 
perhaps  be  better  than  if  I,  a  stranger,  approached  her 
on  the  subject.  She  looks  timid — it  would  come  better 
from  you." 

Rosalie  nodded,  and  caught  up  her  knitting,  as  Dan- 
geau went  out.  On  the  whole,  it  was  a  good  plan.  The 
girl  was  too  thin — she  did  not  wish  her  to  die.  This 
would  make  more  food  possible,  and  at  the  same  time 
entail  no  fresh  expense  to  herself.  Yes,  it  was  decidedly 
a  good  plan. 

"It  is  true,  I  have  a  charitable  disposition,'*  sighed 
Rosalie. 

Dangeau  went  on  his  way  humming  a  tune.  The 
lightness  of  his  spirits  surprised  him.  The  times  were 
anxious.  New  Constitutions  are  not  born  without 
travail.  He  had  an  arduous  part  to  play,  heavy  re- 
sponsible work  to  do,  and  yet  he  felt  the  irrational  ex- 
hilaration of  a  schoolboy,  the  flow  of  animal  spirits 
which  is  induced  by  the  sudden  turn  of  the  tide  in 
spring,  and  the  uplifted  heart  of  him  who  walks  in 
dreams.  All  this  because  a  girl  whom  he  had  seen  some 
half-dozen  times,  with  whom  he  had  never  spoken, 
whose  real  name  he  did  not  know,  was  going  to  sit  for 


The  Inner  Conflict  8i 

an  hour  or  two  where  he  could  look  at  her,  copy  some 
pages  of  his,  which  she  would  certainly  find  dull,  and 
take  money,  which  he  could  ill  spare,  to  bring  a  little 
more  colour  into  cheeks  whose  pallor  was  beginning  to 
haunt  his  sleep. 

Dangeau  bit  his  lip  impatiently.  He  did  not  at  all 
understand  his  own  mood,  and  suddenly  it  angered 
him. 

"The  girl  is  an  aristocrat — nourished  on  blind  super- 
stition, cradled  in  tyranny,"  said  his  brain. 

"She  is  only  a  child,  and  starved,"  said  his  heart; 
and  he  quickened  his  steps,  almost  to  a  run,  as  if  to 
escape  from  the  two  voices.  Once  at  the  Convention 
business  claimed  him  altogether,  Marie  Roche  was 
forgotten,  and  it  was  Dangeau  the  patriot  who  spoke 
and  listened,  took  notes  and  made  suggestions.  It  was 
late  when  he  returned,  and  he  climbed  the  stair  some- 
what wearily.  He  was  aware  of  a  reaction  from  the 
unreasoning  gaiety  of  the  morning.  It  seemed  cold  and 
cheerless  to  come  back  night  after  night  to  an  empty 
room  and  an  uncompanioned  evening,  and  yet  he  could 
remember  the  time,  not  so  long  ago,  when  that  dear 
solitude  was  the  birthplace  of  burning  dreams,  and 
thoughts  dearer  than  any  friend. 

He  had  not  felt  so  dull  and  dreary  since  the  year  of 
his  mother's  death,  his  first  year  alone  in  life,  and  once 
or  twice  he  sighed  as  he  lighted  a  lamp  and  bent  to  the 
heaped-up  papers  which  littered  his  table.  Half  an  hour 
later,  a  low  knocking  at  the  door  made  him  pause. 

"Enter!"  he  called  out,  expecting  to  see  Rosalie. 

The  door  opened  rather  slowly,  and  Mile  de  Rocham- 
beau  stood  hesitating  on  the  threshold.  Her  eyes  were 
wide  and  dark  with  shyness,  but  her  manner  was  prettily 
composed  as  she  said  in  her  low,  clear  tones: 

6 


82         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"The  Citizen  desires  my  services  as  a  secretary? 
Rosalie  told  me  you  had  asked  her  to  speak  to  me " 

Dangeau  sprang  up.  His  theory  of  universal  equality, 
based  upon  universal  citizenship,  was  slipping  from  him, 
and  he  found  himself  saying: 

"If  Mademoiselle  will  do  me  so  much  honour." 

Mademoiselle's  beautifully  arched  eyebrows  rose  a 
little.  What  manner  of  Deputy  was  this?  She  had 
observed  and  liked  the  gravity  of  his  face  and  the 
distant  courtesy  of  his  manner,  or  utmost  privation 
would  not  have  brought  her  to  accept  his  offer;  but  she 
had  not  expected  expressions  of  the  Court,  or  a  bow  that 
might  have  passed  at  Versailles. 

"I  am  ready.  Citizen,"  she  said,  with  a  faint  smile 
and  a  fainter  emphasis  on  the  form  of  address. 

For  the  second  time  that  day  Dangeau  flushed  like  a 
boy.  He  was  glad  that  a  table  had  to  be  drawn  nearer 
the  lamp,  a  chair  pushed  into  position,  ink  and  paper 
fetched.  The  interval  sufficed  to  restore  him  to  com- 
posure, and  Mademoiselle  being  seated,  he  returned  to 
his  papers  and  to  silence. 

When  the  first  page  had  been  transcribed.  Madem- 
oiselle brought  it  over  to  him. 

"Is  that  clear,  and  as  you  wish  it.  Citizen?" 

"  It  is  very  good  indeed,  Citoyenne" ;  and  this  time  his 
tongue  remembered  that  it  belonged  to  a  Republican 
Deputy.  If  Mademoiselle  smiled,  he  did  not  see  it,  and 
again  the  silence  fell.     At  ten  o'clock  she  rose. 

"I  cannot  give  you  more  time  than  this,  I  fear. 
Citizen,"  she  said,  and  unconsciously  her  manner  indi- 
cated that  an  audience  was  terminated.  "  My  embroid- 
ery is  still  my  'cheval  de  bataille,'  and  I  fear  it  would 
suffer  if  my  eyes  keep  too  late  hours." 

Her  low  "Good-night,"  her  scarcely  hinted  curtsey 


The  Inner  Conflict  83 

passed,  even  whilst  Dangeau  rose,  and  before  he  could 
reach  and  open  the  door,  she  had  passed  out,  and  closed 
it  behind  her.  Dangeau  wrote  late  that  night,  and 
waked  later  still.     His  thoughts  were  very  busy. 

After  some  evenings  of  silent  work,  he  asked  her 
abruptly : 

"What  is  your  name?" 

Mademoiselle  gave  a  slight  start,  and  answered  with- 
out raising  her  head: 

"Marie  Roche,  Citizen." 

"I  mean  your  real  name. " 

"But  yes,  Citizen";  and  she  wrote  a  word  that  had 
to  be  erased. 

Dangeau  pushed  his  chair  back,  and  paced  the  room. 
"Marie  Roche  neither  walks,  speaks,  nor  writes  as  you 
do .     Heavens !    Am  I  blind  or  deaf  ? " 

"I  have  not  remarked  it,"  said  Mademoiselle  de- 
murely. Her  head  was  bent  to  hide  a  smile,  which,  if 
a  little  tremulous,  still  betokened  genuine  amusement — 
amusement  which  it  certainly  would  not  do  for  the 
Citizen  to  perceive. 

"Then  do  you  believe  that  I  am  stupid,  or" — with  a 
change  of  tone — "not  to  be  trusted?" 

Mademoiselle  de  Rochambeau  looked  up  at  that. 

"Monsieur,"  she  said  in  measured  tones,  "why 
should  I  trust  you?" 

"Why  should  you  trust  Rosalie  Lebceuf?"  asked 
Dangeau,  with  a  spice  of  anger  in  his  voice.  "Do  you 
not  consider  me  as  trustworthy  as  she?" 

"As  trustworthy?"  she  said,  a  little  bitterly.  "That 
may  very  easily  be;  but.  Monsieur,  if  I  trusted  her,  it 
was  of  necessity,  and  what  law  does  necessity  know?" 

"You  are  right,"  said  Dangeau,  after  a  brief  pause; 
"I  had  no  right  to  ask — to  expect  you  to  answer." 


84        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

He  sat  down  again  as  he  spoke,  and  something  in  his 
tone  made  Mademoiselle  look  quickly  from  her  papers  to 
his  face.  She  found  it  stern  and  rather  white,  and  was 
surprised  to  feel  herself  impelled  towards  confidence,  as 
if  by  some  overwhelming  force. 

"I  was  jesting,  Monsieur,'*  she  said  quickly;  "my 
name  is  Aline  de  Rochambeau,  and  I  am  a  very  friend- 
less young  girl.  I  am  sure  that  Monsieur  would  do 
nothing  that  might  harm  me." 

Dangeau  scarcely  looked  up. 

*'I  thank  you,  Citoyenne,"  he  said  in  a  cold,  con- 
strained voice;  "your  confidence  shall  be  respected." 

Perhaps  Mademoiselle  was  surprised  at  the  formality 
of  the  reply, — perhaps  she  expected  a  shade  more 
response.  It  had  been  a  condescension  after  all,  and  if 
one  condescended,  one  expected  gratitude.  She  frowned 
the  least  little  bit,  and  caught  her  lower  lip  between  her 
white,  even  teeth  for  a  moment,  before  she  bent  again 
to  her  writing. 

Dangeau's  pen  moved,  but  he  was  ignorant  of  what 
characters  it  traced.  There  is  in  every  heart  a  moment 
when  the  still  pool  becomes  a  living  fountain,  because 
an  angel  has  descended  and  the  waters  are  divinely 
troubled.  To  Jacques  Dangeau  such  a  moment  came 
when  he  felt  that  Aline  de  Rochambeau  distrusted  him, 
and  by  the  stabbing  pain  that  knowledge  caused  him, 
knew  also  that  he  loved  her.  When  he  heard  her  speak 
her  name,  those  troubled  waters  leapt  towards  her,  and 
he  constrained  his  voice,  lest  it  should  call  her  by  the 
sweet  name  she  herself  had  just  spoken — lest  it  should 
terrify  her  with  the  resonance  of  this  new  emotion,  or 
break  treacherously  and  leave  her  wondering  if  he  were 
gone  suddenly  mad. 

He  forced  his  eyes  upon  the  page  that  he  could  not 


The  Inner  Conflict  85 

see,  lest  the  new  light  in  them  should  drive  her  from  her 
place.  He  kept  his  hand  clenched  close  above  the  pen, 
lest  it  should  catch  at  her  dress — her  hand — the  white, 
fine  hand  which  wrote  with  such  clear  grace,  such 
maidenly  quiet,  and  all  the  while  his  heart  beat  so  hard 
that  he  could  scarcely  believe  she  did  not  hear  it. 

Ten  o'clock  struck  solemnly,  and  Mademoiselle 
began  to  put  away  her  writing  materials  in  her  usual 
orderly  fashion. 

''You  are  going?"  he  stammered. 

"Since  it  is  the  hour,  Citizen,"  she  answered,  in  some 
surprise. 

He  held  the  door,  and  bowed  low  as  she  passed  him. 

"Good-night,  Citizen." 

' '  Good-night ,  Citoy enne . ' ' 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  passed  lightly  out.  He  heard 
her  door  close,  and  shut  his  own.  He  was  alone.  A 
torrent  as  of  emotion  sublimed  into  fire  swept  over  him, 
and  soul  and  body  flamed  to  it.  He  paced  the  room 
angrily.  Where  was  his  self-control,  his  patriotism,  his 
determination  to  live  for  one  only  Mistress,  the  Republic 
of  his  ardent  dreams?  A  shocked  consciousness  that 
this  aristocrat,  this  child  of  the  enemy,  was  more  to  him 
than  the  most  ardent  of  them,  assaulted  his  mind,  but 
he  repulsed  it  indignantly.  This  was  a  madness,  a  fever, 
and  it  would  pass.  He  had  led  too  solitary  a  life,  hence 
this  girl's  power  to  disturb  him.  Had  he  mixed  more 
with  women  he  would  have  been  safe, — and  suddenly  he 
recalled  Rosalie's  handsome  cousin,  the  Therese  of  his 
warning  to  young  Cl^ry.  She  had  made  unmistakable 
advances  to  him  more  than  once,  but  he  had  presented 
a  front  of  immovable  courtesy  to  her  inviting  smiles  and 
glances.  Certainly  an  affair  with  her  would  have  been 
a  liberal  education,  he  reflected  half  scornfully,  half 


^        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

whimsically  disgusted,  and  no  doubt  it  would  have  left 
him  less  susceptible.     Fool  that  he  was! 

Far  into  the  night  he  paced  his  room,  and  continued 
the  mental  struggle.  Love  comes  hardly  to  some  na- 
tures, and  those  not  the  least  noble.  A  man  trained  to 
self-control,  master  of  his  own  soul  and  all  its  passions, 
does  not  without  a  struggle  yield  up  the  innermost 
fortress  of  his  being.  He  will  not  abdicate,  and  love 
will  brook  no  second  place.  The  strong  man  armed 
keepeth  his  house,  but  when  a  stronger  than  he  Com- 
eth—  All  that  night  Dangeau  wrestled  with  that 
stronger  than  he! 

It  was  some  days  before  the  evening  task  was  in- 
terrupted again.  If  Dangeau  could  not  speak  to  her 
without  a  thousand  follies  clamouring  in  him  for  utter- 
ance, he  could  at  least  hold  his  tongue.  Once  or  twice 
the  pen  in  those  resolute  fingers  flagged,  and  his  eyes 
rested  on  his  secretary  longer  than  he  knew.  Heavy 
shadows  begirt  her.  The  low  roof  sloped  to  the  gloom 
of  the  unlighted  angles  in  the  wall.  Outside  the  lamp- 
light's contracted  circle,  all  seemed  strange,  unformed, 
grotesque.  Weird  shadows  hovered  in  the  dusk  back- 
ground, and  curious  flickers  of  light  shot  here  and  there, 
as  the  ill-trimmed  flame  flared  up,  or  suddenly  sank. 
The  yellow  light  turned  Mademoiselle's  hair  to  burnished 
gold,  and  laid  heavy  shadows  under  her  dark  blue  eyes. 
Its  wan  glow  stole  the  natural  faint  rose  from  her  cheeks 
and  lips,  giving  her  an  unearthly  look,  and  waking  in 
Dangeau  a  poignant  feeling,  part  spiritual  awe,  part 
tender  compassion  for  her  whiteness  and  her  youth,  that 
sometimes  merged  into  the  wholly  human  longing  to 
touch,  hold,  and  comfort. 

Once  she  looked  up  and  caught  that  gaze  upon  her. 
Her  face  whitened  a  little  more,  and  she  bent  rather 


The  Inner  Conflict  87 

lower  over  her  writing,  but  afterwards,  in  her  own  room, 
she  blushed  angrily,  and  wondered  at  herself,  and  him. 

What  a  look!  How  dared  he?  And  yet,  and  yet — 
there  was  nothing  in  it  to  scare  the  most  sensitive 
maidenliness,  not  a  hint  of  passion  or  desire. 

Out  of  the  far-away  memories  of  her  childhood,  Aline 
caught  the  reflection  of  that  same  look  in  other  eyes — 
the  eyes  of  her  beautiful  mother,  haunted  as  she  gazed 
by  the  knowledge  that  the  little  much-loved  daughter 
must  be  left  to  walk  the  path  of  life  alone,  unguarded 
by  the  tender  mother's  love.  Those  eyes  had  closed  in 
death  ten  years  before,  but  at  the  recollection  Aline 
broke  into  a  passionate  weeping,  which  would  not  be 
stilled.  One  of  her  long-drawn  sobs  reached  waking 
ears  across  the  way,  and  Dangeau  caught  his  own  breath, 
and  listened.  Yes,  again, — it  came  again.  Oh  God! 
she  was  weeping!  The  unfamiliar  word  came  to  his 
lips  as  it  comes  to  those  most  unaccustomed  in  mo- 
ments of  heart  strain. 

"O  God,  she  is  in  trouble,  and  I  cannot  help  her!" 
he  groaned,  and  in  that  moment  he  ceased  to  fight 
against  his  love.  To  himself  he  ceased  to  matter.  It 
was  of  her,  of  the  beloved,  of  the  dear  sadness  in  her 
voice,  of  the  sweet  loneliness  in  her  eyes  that  he  thought, 
and  something  like  a  prayer  went  up  that  night  from 
the  heart  of  a  man  who  had  pronounced  prayer  to  be 
a  degrading  superstition.  Long  after  Aline  lay  sleeping, 
her  wet  lashes  folded  peacefully  over  dreaming  eyes,  he 
waked,  and  thought  of  her  with  a  passion  of  tenderness. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
AN  OFFER  OF  FRIENDSHIP 

IT  was  some  nights  later  that  Mile  de  Rochambeau, 
copying  serenely  according  to  her  wont,  came  across 
something  which  made  her  eyes  flash  and  her  cheeks 
burn.  So  far  she  had  written  on  without  paying  much 
heed  to  the  matter  before  her,  her  pen  pursuing  a 
mechanical  task,  whilst  her  thought  merely  followed  its 
clear,  external  form,  gracing  it  with  fine  script  and  due 
punctuation.  At  first,  too,  the  strangeness  of  her  situa- 
tion had  had  its  share  in  absorbing  her  mind,  but  now 
she  was  more  at  her  ease,  and  began,  as  babies  do,  to 
take  notice.  Custom  had  set  its  tranquillising  seal  upon 
her  occupation,  and  perhaps  a  waking  interest  in  Dan- 
geau  set  her  wondering  about  his  work.  Certain  it  is  that, 
having  written  as  the  heading  of  a  chapter  "Sins  against 
Liberty,"  she  fell  to  considering  the  nature  of  Liberty 
and  wondering  what  might  be  these  sins  against  it, 
which  were  treated  of,  as  she  began  to  perceive,  in 
language  theological  in  its  fervour  of  denunciation. 
Dangeau  had  written  the  chapter  a  year  ago,  in  a  white 
heat  of  fury  against  certain  facts  which  had  come  to  his 
knowledge ;  and  it  breathed  a  very  ardent  hatred  towards 
tyrants  and  their  rule,  towards  a  hereditary  aristocracy 
and  its  oppression.  Mile  de  Rochambeau  turned  the 
leaf,  and  read — "a  race  unfit  to  live,  since  it  produces 

88 


An  Offer  of  Friendship  89 

men  without  honour  and  justice,  and  women  devoid  of 
virtue  and  pity. "  She  dropped  the  sheet  as  if  it  burned, 
and  Dangeau,  looking  up,  found  her  eyes  fixed  on  him 
with  an  expression  of  proud  resentment,  which  stung 
him  keenly. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  quickly. 

She  read  the  words  aloud,  with  a  slow  scorn,  which 
went  home. 

"And  Monsieur  believes  that?"  she  said,  with  her 
eyes  still  on  his. 

Dangeau  was  vexed.  He  had  forgotten  the  chapter. 
It  must  read  like  an  insult.  So  far  had  love  taken  him, 
but  he  would  not  deny  what  he  had  written,  and  after 
all  was  it  not  well  she  should  know  the  truth,  she  who 
had  been  snatched  like  some  pure  pearl  from  the  rotten- 
ness and  corruption  of  her  order? 

"It  is  the  truth,"  he  said;  "before  Heaven  it  is  the 
truth." 

"The  truth — this?"  she  said,  smiling.  "Ah  no. 
Monsieur,  I  think  not." 

The  smile  pricked  him,  and  his  words  broke  out  hotly. 

"You  are  young,  Citoyenne,  too  young  to  have  known 
and  seen  the  shameless  wickedness,  the  crushing  tyranny, 
of  this  aristocracy  of  France.  I  tell  you  the  country 
has  bled  at  every  pore  that  vampires  might  suck  the 
blood,  and  fatten  on  it,  they  and  their  children.  Do  you 
claim  honour  for  the  man  who  does  not  shame  to  dis- 
honour the  hearths  of  the  poor,  or  pity  for  the  woman 
who  will  see  children  starving  at  her  gate  that  she  may 
buy  herself  another  string  of  diamonds — hard  and  cold 
as  her  most  unpitiful  heart?" 

"Oh!"  said  Mademoiselle  faintly. 

"It  is  the  truth — the  truth.  I  have  seen  it — and 
more,  much,  much  more.     Tales  not  fit  for  innocent  girls' 


90        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

ears  like  yours,  and  yet  innocent  girls  have  suffered  the 
things  I  dare  not  name  to  you.  This  is  a  race  that 
must  be  purged  from  among  us,  with  sweat  of  blood,  and 
tears  if  needs  be,  and  then — let  the  land  enjoy  her 
increase.  Those  who  toiled  as  brutes,  oppressed  and 
ground  down  below  the  very  cattle  they  tended,  shall 
work,  each  man  for  his  own  wife  and  children,  and  the 
prosperity  of  the  family  shall  make  the  prosperity  of 
France." 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  listened  impatiently,  her  finely 
cut  mouth  quivering  with  anger,  and  her  eyes  darken- 
ing and  deepening  from  blue  to  grey.  They  were  those 
Irish  eyes,  of  all  eyes  the  most  changeable :  blue  under  a 
blue  sky,  grey  in  anger,  and  violet  when  the  soul  looked 
out  of  them — the  beautiful  eyes  of  beautiful  Aileen 
Desmond.  They  were  very  dark  with  her  daughter's 
resentment  now. 

"Monsieur  says  I  am  young,"  she  cried,  "but  he 
forgets  that  I  have  lived  all  my  life  in  the  country 
amongst  those  who,  he  says,  are  so  oppressed,  so  en- 
slaved. I  have  not  seen  it.  Before  my  parents  died  and 
I  went  to  the  Convent,  I  used  to  visit  the  peasants  with 
my  mother.  She  was  an  angel,  and  they  worshipped  her. 
I  have  seen  women  kiss  the  fold  of  her  dress  as  she 
passed,  and  the  children  would  flock  to  her,  like  chickens 
at  feeding-time.  Then,  my  father — he  was  so  good,  so 
just.  In  his  youth,  I  have  heard  he  was  the  handsomest 
man  at  Court ;  he  had  the  royal  favour,  the  King  wished 
for  his  friendship,  but  he  chose  rather  to  live  on  his 
estates,  and  rule  them  justly  and  wisely.  The  meanest 
man  in  his  Marquisate  could  come  to  him  with  his 
grievance  and  be  sure  it  would  be  redressed,  and  the 
poorest  knew  that  M.  le  Marquis  would  be  as  scrupulous 
in  defence  of  his  rights  as  in  defence  of  his  own  honour. 


An  Offer  of  Friendship  91 

And  there  were  many,  many  who  did  the  same.  They 
lived  on  their  lands,  they  feared  God,  they  honoured  the 
King.     They  did  justly  and  loved  mercy. " 

Dangeau  watched  her  face  as  it  kindled,  and  felt  the 
flame  in  her  rouse  all  the  smouldering  fires  of  his  own 
heart.  The  opposition  of  their  natures  struck  sparks 
from  both.     But  he  controlled  himself. 

"It  is  the  power,"  he  said  in  a  sombre  voice;  "they 
had  too  much  power — might  be  angel  or  devil  at  will. 
Too  many  were  devil,  and  brought  hell's  torments  with 
them.  You  honour  your  parents,  and  it  is  well,  for  if 
they  were  as  you  speak  of  them,  all  would  honour  them. 
Do  you  not  think  Liberty  would  have  spoken  to  them 
too?  But  for  every  seigneur  who  dealt  equal  justice, 
there  were  hundreds  who  crushed  the  poor  because  they 
were  defenceless.  For  every  woman  who  fostered  the 
tender  lives  around  her,  there  were  thousands  who  saw 
a  baby  die  of  starvation  at  its  starving  mother's  breast 
with  as  little  concern  as  if  it  had  been  a  she- wolf  perish- 
ing with  her  whelps,  and  less  than  if  it  were  a  case  of  one 
of  my  lord's  hounds  and  her  litter." 

Mademoiselle  felt  the  angry  tears  come  sharply  to  her 
eyes.  Why  should  this  man  move  her  thus?  What, 
after  all,  did  his  opinions  matter  to  her?  She  chid  her 
own  imprudence  in  having  lent  herself  to  this  unseemly 
argument.  She  had  already  trusted  him  too  much.  A 
little  tremour  crept  over  her  heart — she  remembered  the 
September  madness,  the  horror,  and  the  blood, — and  the 
colour  ebbed  slowly  from  her  cheeks  as  she  bent  forward 
and  took  her  pen  again. 

Dangeau  saw  her  whiten,  and  in  an  instant  his  mood 
changed.  Her  hand  shook,  and  he  guessed  the  cause. 
He  had  frightened  her;  she  did  not  trust  him.  The 
thought  stabbed  very  deep,  but  he  too  fell  silent,  and 


92        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

resumed  his  work,  though  with  a  heavy  heart.  When 
she  rose  to  go,  he  looked  up,  hesitated  a  moment,  and 
then  said: 

"Citoyenne." 

"Yes,  Citizen." 

"Citoyenne,  it  would  be  wiser  not  to  express  to  others 
the  sentiments  you  have  avowed  to-night.  They  are  not 
safe — ^for  Marie  Roche.'* 

"No,  Citizen." 

Mademoiselle's  back  was  towards  him,  and  he  had  no 
means  of  discovering  how  she  took  his  warning. 

"That  process  of  purging,  of  which  I  spoke,  goes 
forward  apace,"  he  continued  slowly;  "those  who  have 
sinned  against  the  people  must  expiate  their  sins,  it  may 
be  in  blood." 

"Yes,  Citizen." 

Something  drove  him  on — that  subtle  instinct  which 
drives  us  all  at  times,  the  desire  to  probe  deeply,  to  try 
to  the  uttermost. 

"They  and  their  innocent  children,  perhaps,"  he  said 
gloomily,  and  her  own  case  was  in  his  mind.  "What  do 
your  priests  say — is  it  not  'to  the  third  and  fourth 
generation'?" 

She  turned  and  faced  him  then,  very  pale,  but  quite 
composed.     There  was  no  coward  blood  in  her. 

"You  are  trying  to  tell  me  that  you  will  denounce 
me,"  she  said  quietly. 

The  words  fell  like  a  thunderbolt.  All  the  blood  in 
Dangeau's  body  seemed  to  rush  violently  to  his  head, 
and  for  a  moment  he  lost  himself.  He  was  by  her  side, 
his  hands  catching  at  her  shoulders,  where  they  lay 
heavy,  shaking. 

"Look  me  in  the  face  and  say  that  again!"  he 
thtmdered  in  the  voice  his  section  knew. 


An  Offer  of  Friendship  93 

"Ah!'*  cried  Mademoiselle, — "what  do  you  mean, 
Monsieur?     This  is  an  outrage,  release  me!" 

His  hands  fell,  but  his  eyes  held  hers.  They  blazed 
upon  her  like  heated  steel,  and  the  anger  in  them  burned 
her. 

"Ah!  you  dare  not  say  it  again,"  he  said  very  low. 

"  Monsieur,  I  dare. "  Her  gaze  met  his,  and  a  strange 
excitement  possessed  her.  She  would  have  been  less 
than  woman  had  she  not  felt  her  power — ^more  than 
woman  had  she  not  used  it. 

Dangeau  spoke  again,  his  voice  muffled  with  passion. 
"You  dare  say  I,  Jacques  Dangeau,  am  a  spy,  an  in- 
former, a  betrayer  of  trust?" 

Mademoiselle's  composure  began  to  return.  This  man 
shook  when  he  touched  her;  she  was  stronger  than  he. 
There  was  no  danger. 

"Not  quite  that.  Citizen,"  she  said  quietly.  "But  I 
did  not  know  what  a  patriot  might  consider  his  duty." 

He  turned  away,  and  bent  over  his  table,  arranging 
a  paper  here,  closing  a  drawer  there.  After  a  few 
moments  he  came  to  where  she  stood,  and  looked  fixedly 
at  her  for  a  short  time.  His  former  look  she  had  met, 
but  before  this  her  eyes  dropped. 

"Citoyenne,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  ask  your  pardon. 
I  had  hoped  that — "  He  paused,  and  began  again.  "I 
am  no  informer — you  may  have  reliance  on  my  honour 
and  my  friendship.  I  warned  you  because  I  saw  you 
friendless  and  inexperienced.  These  are  dangerous  times 
— times  of  change  and  development.  I  believe  with  all  my 
heart  in  the  goal  towards  which  we  are  striving,  but 
many  will  fall  by  the  .way — some  from  weakness,  some 
by  the  sword.  I  was  but  offering  a  hand  to  one  whom 
I  saw  in  danger  of  stumbling. " 

His  altered  tone  and  grave  manner  softened  Aline's 


94        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

mood.  "Indeed,  Citizen, *'  she  cried  on  the  impulse, 
"you  have  been  very  kind  to  me.  I  am  not  ungrateful 
— I  have  too  few  friends  for  that." 

"Do  you  count  me  a  friend,  Citoyenne?" 

Mademoiselle  drew  back  a  shade. 

"What  is  a  friend — what  is  friendship?"  she  said 
more  lightly. 

And  Dangeau  sought  for  cool  and  temperate  words. 

"Friendship  is  mutual  help,  mutual  good- will — a  bond 
which  is  rooted  in  honour,  confidence,  and  esteem.  A 
friend  is  one  who  will  neither  be  oppressive  in  prosperity 
nor  faithless  in  adversity,"  he  said. 

"And  are  you  such  a  friend.  Citizen?" 

"If  you  will  accept  my  friendship,  you  will  learn 
whether  I  am  such  a  friend  or  not. " 

The  measured  words,  the  carefully  controlled  voice, 
emboldened  Mademoiselle.  She  threw  a  searching  glance 
at  the  dark,  downcast  features  above  her,  and  her  youth 
went  out  to  his. 

"  I  will  try  this  friendship  of  yours,  Citizen, "  she  said, 
with  a  little  smile,  and  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

Dangeau  flushed  deeply.  His  self-control  shook,  but 
only  for  a  moment.  Then  he  raised  the  slim  hand,  and, 
bending  to  meet  it,  kissed  it  as  if  it  had  been  the  Queen's, 
and  he  a  devout  Loyalist. 

It  was  Aline's  turn  to  wake  and  wonder  that  night, 
acting  out  the  little  scene  a  hundred  times.  Why  that 
flame  of  sudden  anger — that  tempest  which  had  so 
shaken  her?  What  was  this  power  which  drew  her  on 
to  experiment,  to  play,  with  forces  beyond  her  under- 
standing? She  felt  again  the  weight  of  his  hands  upon 
her,  her  flesh  tingled,  and  she  blushed  hotly  in  the 
darkness.  No  one  had  ever  touched  her  so  before. 
Wild  anger  woke  in  her,  and  wilder  tears  came  burning 


An  Offer  of  Friendship  95 

to  her  burning  cheeks.  Truly  a  girl's  heart  is  a  strange 
thing.  The  shyest  maid  will  weave  dream-tales  of 
passionate  love,  in  which  she  plays  the  heroine  to  every 
gallant  hero  history  holds  or  romance  presents.  Their 
dream  kisses  leave  her  modesty  untouched,  their  fervent 
speeches  bring  no  faintest  flush  to  her  virgin  cheeks. 
Comes  then  an  actual  lover,  and  all  at  once  is  changed. 
The  garment  of  her  dreams  falls  from  her,  and  leaves  her 
naked  and  ashamed.  A  look  affronts,  a  word  offends, 
and  a  touch  goes  near  to  make  her  swoon. 

Aline  lay  trembling  at  her  thoughts.  He  had  touched, 
had  held  her.  His  strong  hands  had  bruised  the  tender 
flesh.  She  had  seen  a  man  in  wrath — had  known  that 
it  was  for  her  to  raise  or  quell  the  storm.  And  then 
that  kiss — it  tingled  yet,  and  she  threw  out  her  hand  in 
protest.  All  her  pride  rose  armed.  She,  a  Rochambeau, 
daughter  of  as  haughty  a  house  as  any  France  nourished, 
to  lie  here  dreaming  because  a  bourgeois  had  kissed  her 
hand! — this  was  a  scourge  to  bring  blood.  It  certainly 
brought  many  tears,  and  at  the  last  she  knelt  for  a  long 
while  praying.  The  waters  of  her  soul  stilled  at  the 
familiar  words  of  peace,  and  settled  back  into  a  virgin 
calm.  As  yet  only  the  surface  had  been  ruffled  by  the 
first  breath  which  heralded  the  approaching  storm.  It 
had  rippled  under  the  touch,  tossed  for  an  hour,  flung  up 
a  drop  or  two  of  salt,  indignant  spray,  and  sunk  again 
to  sleep  and  silence.  Below,  the  deeps  lay  all  untroubled, 
but  in  them  strange  things  were  moving.  For  when  she 
slept  she  dreamed  a  strange  dream,  and  disquieting.  She 
thought  she  was  at  Rochambeau  once  more,  and  she 
wondered  why  her  heart  did  not  leap  for  joy,  instead  of 
being  heavy  and  troubled,  beyond  anything  she  could 
remember. 

The  sun  was  sinking,  and  all  the  fields  lay  golden  in 


96         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

the  glory,  but  she  was  too  weary  to  heed.  Her  feet  were 
bare  and  bleeding,  her  garments  torn  and  scanty,  and  on 
her  breast  lay  a  little  moaning  babe.  It  stretched  slow, 
groping  hands  to  her  and  wailed  for  food,  and  her  heart 
grew  heavier  and  darker  with  every  step  she  took. 
Suddenly  Dangeau  stood  by  her  side.  He  was  angry,  his 
voice  thundered,  his  look  was  fiame,  and  in  loud,  terrible 
tones  he  cried,  "You  have  starved  my  child,  and  it  is 
dead!"  Then  she  thought  he  took  the  baby  from  her 
arms,  and  an  angel  with  a  flaming  sword  flew  out  of  the 
sun,  and  drew  her  down — down — down.  .  .  . 

She  woke  terrified,  bathed  in  tears.  What  a  dream! 
"Holy  Mary,  Mother  and  Virgin,  shield  me!"  she 
prayed,  as  she  crouched  breathless  in  the  gloom.  "The 
powers  of  darkness — the  powers  of  evil !  Let  dreams  be 
far  and  phantoms  of  the  night — bind  thou  the  foe. 
His  look,  his  fearful  look,  and  his  deep  threatening  voice 
like  the  trump  of  the  Angel  of  Judgment !  Mary,  Virgin, 
save!" 

Thoughts  wild  and  incoherent;  prayers  softening  to  a 
sob,  sobs  melting  again  into  a  prayer!  Loneliness  and  the 
midnight  had  their  way  with  her,  and  it  was  not  until 
the  tranquillising  moon  shot  a  silver  ray  into  the  small 
dark  room  that  the  haunting  agony  was  calmed,  and  she 
sank  into  a  dreamless  sleep. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  OLD  IDEAL  AND  THE  NEW 

IT  was  really  only  on  four  evenings  of  the  week  that 
Dangeau  was  able  to  avail  himself  of  Mile  de  Ro- 
chambeau's  services. 

On  Sundays  she  took  a  holiday  both  from  embroidery 
and  copying,  and  on  Mondays  and  Thursdays  he  spent 
the  evening  at  the  Cordeliers*  Club. 

It  was  on  a  Saturday  that  Dangeau  had  stormed, 
proffered  friendship,  and  kissed  Mademoiselle's  hand,  so 
that  during  the  two  days  that  followed  both  had  time  to 
calm  down,  to  experience  a  slight  revulsion  of  feeling,  and 
finally  to  feel  some  embarrassment  at  the  thought  of 
their  next  meeting. 

On  Tuesday  Dangeau  was  in  his  room  all  the  after- 
noon. He  had  some  important  papers  to  read  through, 
and  when  he  had  finished  them,  felt  restless,  yet  dis- 
inclined to  go  out  again. 

It  was  still  light,  but  the  winter  dark  would  fall  in 
half  an  hour,  and  the  evening  promised  to  be  wet  and 
stormy.  A  gust  of  wind  beat  upon  the  window  now 
and  again,  leaving  it  sprayed  with  moisture.  Dangeau 
stood  awhile  looking  out,  his  mood  grey  as  the  weather. 
Some  one  not  far  off  was  singing,  and  he  opened  his 
window,  and  leaned  idly  out  to  see  if  the  singer  were 
visible.  The  sound  at  once  grew  faint,  almost  to  ex^ 
7  97 


98         A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

tinction,  and  latching  the  casement  he  fell  to  pacing  his 
room.  By  the  door  he  paused,  for  the  sound  was  surely 
clearer.  He  turned  the  handle  and  stood  listening,  for 
Mademoiselle's  door  was  ajar,  and  from  within  her  voice 
came  sweetly  and  low.  He  had  an  instant  vision  of  how 
she  would  look,  sitting  close  to  the  dull  window,  grey 
twilight  on  the  shining  head  bent  over  the  fine  white 
work  as  she  sang  to  keep  the  silence  and  the  loneliness 
from  her  heart.  The  song  was  one  of  those  soft  inter- 
minable cradle  songs  which  mothers  sing  in  every 
country  place,  rocking  the  full  cradle  with  patient 
rhythmic  foot,  the  while  they  spin  or  knit,  and  every 
word  came  clear  to  a  lilting  air : 

"She  sat  beneath  the  wayside  tree, 
Et  Ion,  Ion,  Ion,  et  la,  la,  la — 
She  heard  the  birds  sing  wide  and  free, 
Hail  Mary,  full  of  grace! 

"She  had  no  shelter  for  her  head, 
Et  Ion,  Ion,  Ion,  et  la,  la,  la. 
Except  the  leaves  that  God  had  spread — 
Hail  Mary,  full  of  grace! 

"Down  jflew  the  Angel  Gabriel, 
Et  Ion,  Ion,  Ion,  et  la,  la,  la, 
He  said,  'Maid  Mary,  greet  thee  well!* 
Hail  Mary,  full  of  grace!" 

The  song  was  interrupted  for  a  moment,  but  he  heard 
her  hum  the  tune.  To  the  lonely  man  came  a  swift, 
holy  thought  of  what  it  would  be  to  see  her  rock  a  child 
to  that  soft  air  in  a  happy  twilight,  no  longer  solitary. 
He  heard  her  move  her  chair  and  sigh  a  little  as  she  sat 
down  again.  The  daylight  died  as  if  with  gasps  for 
breath  palpably  withdrawn : 


The  Old  Ideal  and  the  New  99 

"She  laid  her  Son  in  the  oxen's  stall, 
Et  Ion,  Ion,  Ion,  et  la,  la,  la — 
Herself  she  did  not  rest  at  all, 
Hail  Mary,  full  of  grace!" 

Another  pause,  another  sigh,  and  then  the  sound  of  steps 
moving  about  the  room.  Then  the  door  was  shut,  and 
with  a  little  smile  half  tender,  half  impatient,  Dangeau 
turned  to  his  work  again. 

When  the  evening  was  come,  and  Mademoiselle  was 
in  her  place,  he  asked  her  suddenly : 

"What  do  you  do  with  yourself  on  Sunday?" 

"I  take  a  holiday.  Citizen,"  she  answered  demurely, 
and  without  looking  up. 

''But  what  do  you  do  with  your  holiday,  Citoyenne," 
said  Dangeau,  persistent. 

Mademoiselle  smiled  a  little  and  blushed  a  little, 
smile  and  blush  alike  reproving  his  curiosity,  but  after 
a  slight  hesitation  she  said: 

"I  go  to  one  of  the  great  churches." 

"And  when  you  are  there?" 

"Is  it  the  Catechism?"  ventured  Mademoiselle,  and 
then  went  on  hastily,   "I  say  my  prayers.  Citizen." 

"And  could  you  not  say  them  at  home?" 

"Why,  yes,  and  I  do.  Citizen,  but  I  go  to  hear  the 
Mass;  and  then  the  church  is  so  solemn,  and  big,  and 
beautiful.  Others  are  praying  round  me,  and  I  feel  my 
prayers  are  heard." 

Dangeau  frowned  and  then  broke  out  impatiently: 

"That  idea  of  prayer — it  is  so  selfish — each  one 
asking,  asking,  asking.  I  do  not  find  that  ennob- 
ling!" 

"Is  it  so  selfish  to  ask  for  patience  and  courage,  then, 
Citizen?" 


loo       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"And  is  that  what  you  pray  for?"  he  asked,  arrested 
by  something  in  her  tone. 

Aline 's  colour  rose  high  under  his  softened  look,  and 
she  inclined  her  head  without  speaking. 

"That  might  pass,"  said  Dangeau  reflectively.  "I 
do  not  believe  in  priests,  or  an  organised  religion,  but 
I  have  my  own  creed.  I  believe  in  one  Supreme  Being 
from  whom  flows  that  tide  which  we  call  Life  when  it 
rises  in  us,  and  Death  when  it  ebbs  again  to  Him.  If 
the  creature  could,  by  straining  towards  the  Creator, 
draw  the  life- tide  more  strongly  into  his  own  soul,  that 
would  be  worthy  prayer;  but  to  most  men,  what  is^ 
religion? — a  mere  ignoble  system  of  reward  or  punish- 
ment, fit  perhaps  for  children,  or  slaves,  but  no  free 
man's  creed." 

"What  would  you  give  them  instead,  Citizen?" 
asked  Mademoiselle  seriously. 

' *  Reason, ' *  cried  Dangeau ; ' '  pure  reason.  Teach  man 
to  reason,  and  you  lift  him  above  such  degrading  con- 
siderations. Even  the  child  should  not  be  punished,  it 
should  be  reasoned  with;  but  there — "  He  paused, 
for  Mademoiselle  was  laughing  a  soft,  irrepressible  laugh, 
that  filled  the  small,  low  room. 

"Oh,  Citizen,  forgive  me,"  she  cried;  "but  you  re- 
minded me  of  something  that  happened  when  I  was 
a  child.  I  do  not  quite  know  whether  the  story  fits 
your  theory  or  mine,  but  I  will  tell  it  you,  if  you  like." 

"If  it  fits  my  theory,  I  shall  annex  it  unscrupulously, 
of  that  I  give  you  fair  warning, "  said  Dangeau,  laughing. 
"But  tell  it  to  me  first,  and  we  will  dispute  about  it 
afterwards." 

Aline  leaned  back  in  her  upright  chair,  and  a  little 
remembering  smile  came  into  her  eyes. 

"Well,  Citizen,  you  must  know  that  I  was  only  nine 


Old  Ideal  and  New  loi 

years  old  when  I  went  to  the  Convent,  and  I  was  a 
spoilt  child,  and  gave  the  good  nuns  a  great  deal  of 
trouble,  I  am  afraid. 

"The  sister  in  charge  of  us  was  Sister  Marie  Jos^phe, 
and  we  were  very  fond  of  her ;  but  when  we  were  naughty, 
out  came  a  birch  rod,  and  we  were  soundly  punished. 

"Now  Sister  Marie  Jos^phe  was  not  strong;  she 
suffered  much  from  pain  in  her  head,  and  sometimes  it 
was  so  bad  that  she  was  obliged  to  be  alone,  and  in  the 
dark.  When  this  happened,  Sister  Genevieve  took  her 
place,  and  Sister  Genevieve  was  like  you,  Citizen;  she 
believed  in  the  efficacy  of  pure  reason!  If  under  her 
regime  there  was  a  crime  to  be  punished,  then  there 
was  no  birch  rod  forthcoming,  but  instead,  a  very  long, 
dreary  sermon — an  hour  by  the  clock,  at  least — and  at 
the  end  a  very  limp,  discouraged  sinner,  usually  in  tears. 
But,  Citizen,  it  was  ennuyant,  most  terrible  ennuyant, 
and  much,  much  worse  than  being  whipped;  for  that 
only  lasted  a  minute,  and  then  there  were  tears,  kisses, 
promises  of  amendment,  and  a  grand  reconciliation. 
Well,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  had  a  great  desire  to  see 
the  moon  rise  over  the  hill  behind  us.  Our  windows 
looked  the  other  way,  and  as  it  was  winter  time  we 
were  all  locked  in  very  early.  Adele  de  Matignon 
dared  me  to  get  out.  I  declared  I  would,  and  I  watched 
my  time.  I  am  sure  Sister  Marie  Jos^phe  must  have 
been  very  much  surprised  by  my  frequent  and  tender 
inquiries  after  her  health  at  that  time. 

"  'Always  a  little  suffering,  my  child,'  she  would  say, 
and  then  I  would  whisper  to  Ad^le,  'We  must  wait.' 

"At  last,  however,  a  day  came  when  the  good  sister 
answered,  'Ah,  it  goes  better,  thanks  to  the  Virgin,'  and 
I  told  Ad^le  that  it  would  be  for  that  evening.  Well,  I 
got  out.     I  climbed  through  a  window,  and  down  a  pear 


102  .    A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

tree.  I  scratched  my  hands,  and  fell  into  some  bushes, 
and  after  all  there  was  no  moon !  The  night  was  cloudy 
and  presently  it  began  to  rain.  I  assure  you,  Citizen, 
I  was  very  well  punished  before  I  came  up  for  judgment. 
Of  course  I  was  discovered,  and,  to  my  horror,  found 
myself  in  the  hands  of  Sister  G6nevi^ve.  'But  where 
is  Sister  Marie  Jos^phe?"  I  sobbed.  'Ah,  my  child!' 
said  Sister  G^nevi^ve  mildly,  '  this  wickedness  of  yours 
has  brought  on  one  of  her  worst  attacks,  and  she  is 
suffering  too  much  to  come  to  you. '  I  cried  dreadfully, 
for  I  was  very  much  discouraged,  and  felt  that  one  of 
Sister  Genevieve's  sermons  would  remove  my  last  hope 
in  this  world.  She  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  me, 
I  am  sure,  but  I  had  to  listen  to  more  pure  reason 
than  I  had  ever  done  before,  and  I  assure  you.  Citizen, 
that  it  gave  me  a  headache  almost  as  bad  as  poor  Sister 
Marie  Josephe's. " 

Mademoiselle  laughed  again  as  she  finished  her  tale, 
and  looked  at  Dangeau  with  arch,  malicious  eyes.  He 
joined  her  laughter,  but  would  have  the  last  word;  for, 

"See,  Citoyenne, "  he  said,  "see  how  your  tale  sup- 
ports my  theory,  and  how  fine  a  deterrent  was  the 
pure  reason  of  Sister  G^nevi^ve  as  compared  with  the 
birch  rod  of  Sister  Marie  Jos^phe!" 

"But  if  it  is  a  punishment,  then  your  theory  falls  to 
the  ground,  since  you  were  to  do  away  with  all  reward 
and  punishment!"  objected  Aline. 

Dangeau's  eyes  twinkled. 

"You  are  too  quick,"  he  said  in  mock  surrender. 

Mademoiselle  took  up  her  pen. 

"I  am  very  slow  over  my  work,"  she  answered, 
smiling.  "See  how  I  waste  my  time!  You  should 
scold  me,  Citizen. " 

They  wrote  for  awhile,  but  Dangeau's  pen  halted,  the 


Old  Ideal  and  New  103 

merriment  died  out  of  his  face,  leaving  it  stern  and 
gloomy.  These  were  no  times  to  foster  even  an  innocent 
gaiety.     Abruptly  he  began  to  speak  again. 

"You  see  only  flowers  and  innocence  upon  your 
altars,  but  I  have  seen  them  served  by  cruelty,  blood, 
and  lust." 

Aline  looked  up,  startled. 

"I  could  not  tell  you  the  tales  I  know — they  are 
not  fit."  His  brow  clouded.  " My  mother  was  a  good 
woman,  good  and  religious.  I  have  still  a  reverence  for 
what  she  reverenced;  I  can  still  worship  the  spirit  of 
her  worship,  though  I  have  travelled  far  enough  since 
she  taught  me  at  her  knee.  I  have  seen  too  many 
crimes  committed  in  the  name  of  Religion,"  and  he 
broke  off,  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand. 

Mile  de  Rochambeau's  eyes  flashed. 

"And  in  the  name  of  Liberty,  none?"  she  asked  with 
a  sudden  ring  in  her  voice. 

A  vision  of  blood  and  horror  swept  between  them. 
Dangeau  saw  in  memory  the  gutters  of  Paris  awash  with 
the  crimson  of  massacre.  Dead,  violet  eyes  in  a  severed 
head  pike-lifted  stared  at  him  from  the  gloom,  and 
under  his  gaze  he  thought  they  changed,  turned  greyer, 
darker,  and  took  the  form  and  hue  of  those  which  Aline 
raised  to  his.  He  shuddered  violently,  and  answered  in 
a  voice  scarcely  audible : 

"Yes,  there  have  been  crimes." 

Then  he  looked  up  again,  snatching  his  thoughts  back 
to  control. 

"Liberty  is  only  a  name,  as  yet,"  he  said;  "we  have 
taken  away  the  visible  chain  which  manacled  the  body, 
but  an  invisible  one  lies  deep,  and  corroded,  fettering 
the  heart  and  will,  and  as  it  rusts  into  decay  it  breeds 
a  deadly  poison  there.     The  work  of  healing  cannot  be 


I04       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

done  in  a  day.  There  can  be  no  true  liberty  until  our 
children  are  cradled  in  it,  educated  in  it,  taught  to  hold 
it  as  the  air,  without  which  they  cannot  breathe.  That 
time  is  to  come,  but  first  there  will  be  much  bitterness, 
much  suffering,  much  that  is  to  be  deplored.  You  may 
well  pray  for  strength  and  patience, "  he  continued,  after 
a  momentary  pause,  "for  we  shall  all  need  them  in 
the  times  that  are  coming. " 

Slowly,  but  surely,  the  spirit  of  the  two  great  Repub- 
lican Clubs  was  turning  to  violence  and  lust  of  power. 
Hebert,  Marat,  and  Fouquier  Tinville  were  rising  into 
prominence — fatal,  evil  stars,  driven  on  an  orbit  of 
mad  passion. 

Robespierre's  name  still  stood  for  moderation,  but 
there  was,  at  times,  an  expression  on  his  livid  face,  a 
spark  in  his  haggard  eyes,  which  left  a  more  ominous 
impression  than  Marat's  flood  of  vituperation  or  Tin- 
ville's  calculating  cruelty. 

Dangeau's  heart  was  very  heavy.  The  splendid  dawn 
was  here — the  dawn  longed  for,  looked  for,  hoped  for 
through  so  many  hours  of  blackest  night — and  behold, 
it  came  up  redly  threatening,  precursor,  not  of  the  full, 
still  day  of  peace,  but  of  some  Armageddon  of  wrath 
and  fury.  The  day  of  peace  would  come,  must  come, 
but  who  could  say  that  he  would  live  to  see  it?  There 
were  times  when  it  seemed  unutterably  far  away. 

A  dark  mood  was  upon  him.  He  could  not  write, 
but  stared  gloomily  before  him.  That  anxiety,  that 
quickened  sense  of  all  life's  sadness  and  dangers  which 
comes  over  us  at  times  when  we  love,  possessed  him 
now.  How  long  wovdd  this  young  life,  which  meant 
he  was  afraid  to  gauge  how  much  to  him,  be  safe  in 
the  midst  of  this  fermenting  city?  Her  innocence 
stabbed  his  sovil,  her  delicate  pride  caught  at  his  heart- 


Old  Ideal  and  New  105 

strings.  How  long  could  the  one  endure?  How  soon 
might  not  the  other  be  dragged  in  the  dust?  Rosalie 
he  knew  only  too  well.  She  would  not  betray  the 
girl,  but  neither  would  she  go  out  of  her  own  safe  way 
to  protect  her;  and  she  was  venal,  narrow,  and  hard. 

He  did  not  kiss  Mademoiselle's  hand  to-night,  but  he 
took  it  for  a  moment  as  she  passed,  and  stood  looking 
down  at  it  as  he  said: 

"If  God  is.  He  will  bless  you." 

Mademoiselle's  heart  beat  violently. 

"And  you  too.  Citizen,"  she  murmured,  with  an 
involuntary  catch  of  the  breath. 

"Do  you  pray  for  me?"  he  asked,  filled  with  a  new 
emotion. 

"Yes,  Citizen,"  she  said,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

Dangeau  was  about  to  speak  again — to  say  he  knew 
not  what — but  with  her  last  words  she  drew  her  hand 
gently  away,  and  was  gone.  He  stood  where  she  had 
left  him,  breathing  deeply.  Suddenly  the  gloom  that 
lay  upon  him  became  shot  with  light,  and  hope  rose 
trembling  in  his  heart.  He  felt  himself  strong — a 
giant.  What  harm  could  touch  her  under  the  shield  of 
his  love?  Who  would  dare  threaten  what  he  would 
cherish  to  the  death?  In  this  new  exultation  he  flung 
the  window  wide,  and  leaned  out.  A  little  snow  had 
fallen,  and  the  heaviness  of  the  air  was  relieved.  Now  it 
came  crisp  and  vigorous  against  his  cheek.  Far  above, 
the  clouds  made  a  wide  ring  about  the  moon.  Serenely 
tranquil  she  floated  in  the  space  of  clear,  dark  sky,  and 
all  the  night  was  irradiated  as  if  by  thoughts  of  peace. 


CHAPTER  X 
THE  FATE  OF  A  KING 

DECEMBER  was  a  month  of  turmoil  and  raging 
dissensions.  Faction  fought  faction,  party  abused 
party,  and  all  was  confusion  and  clamour.  In  the  great 
Hall  of  the  Convention,  speaker  succeeded  speaker, 
Deputy  after  Deputy  rose,  and  thundered,  rose,  and 
declaimed,  rose,  and  vituperated.  Nothing  was  done,  and 
in  every  department  of  the  State  there  reigned  a  chaos 
indescribable.  "  Moderation  and  delay,"  clamoured  the 
Girondins,  smooth,  narrow  Roland  at  their  head,  mouth- 
piece, as  rumour  had  it,  of  that  beautiful  philosopher, 
his  wife.  *'  To  work  and  have  done  with  it,"  shouted  the 
men  of  the  Mountain,  driving  their  words  home  with 
sharp  accusations  of  lack  of  patriotism  and  a  desire  to 
favour  Monarchy. 

On  the  nth  of  the  month,  the  Hall  had  echoed  to 
the  Nation's  indictment  of  Louis  Capet,  sometime  King 
of  France. 

On  the  26th,  Louis,  still  King  in  his  own  eyes,  made 
answer  to  the  Nation's  accusation  by  the  mouth  of  his 
advocate,  the  young  Desdze. 

For  three  hours  that  brave  man  spoke,  manfully 
striving  against  the  inevitable,  and,  having  finished 
a  most  eloquent  speech,  threw  his  whole  energies 
into    obtaining    what    was     the     best    hope     of     the 

X06 


The  Fate  of  a  King  107 

King's  friends — delay,  delay,  delay,  and  yet  again 
delay. 

The  matter  dragged  on  and  on.  Every  mouthing 
Deputy  had  his  epoch-making  remarks  to  make,  and 
would  make  them,  though  distracted  Departments 
waited  until  the  Citizen  Deputies  should  have  finished 
judging  their  King,  and  have  time  to  spare  for  the  busi- 
ness of  doing  the  work  they  had  taken  out  of  his  hands ; 
whilst  outside,  a  carefully  stage-managed  crowd  howled 
all  day  for  bread,  and  for  the  Traitor  Veto's  head,  which 
they  somehow  imagined,  or  were  led  to  imagine,  would 
do  as  well. 

The  Mountain  languished  a  little  without  its  leader, 
who  was  absent  on  a  mission  to  the  Low  Countries,  and, 
Danton's  tremendous  personality  removed,  it  tended  to 
froth  of  accusation  and  counter-accusation,  by  which 
matters  were  not  at  all  advanced.  At  the  head  of 
his  Jacobins  sat  Robespierre,  as  yet  coldly  inscrutable, 
but  amongst  the  Cordeliers  there  was  none  to  replace 
Danton. 

In  the  early  days  of  January,  the  Netherlands  gave 
him  back  again,  and  the  Mountain  met  in  conclave — its 
two  parties  blended  by  the  only  man  who  could  so  blend 
them.  The  long  Committee-room  was  dark,  and  though 
it  was  not  late,  the  lamps  had  been  lighted  for  some 
time.  Under  one  of  them  a  man  sat  writing.  His 
straight,  unnaturally  sleek  hair  was  brushed  carefully 
back  from  a  forehead  of  spectral  pallor.  His  narrow 
lips  pressed  each  other  closely,  and  he  wrote  with  an  ab- 
sorbed concentration  which  was  somehow  not  agreeable 
to  witness. 

Every  now  and  then  he  glanced  up,  and  there  was  a 
hinted  gleam  of  red — a  mere  spark  not  yet  fanned  into 
flame — behind  the  shallows  of  his  eyes.     The  lamp-light 


io8       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

showed  every  detail  of  his  almost  foppish  dress,  which  was 
in  marked  contrast  to  his  unpleasing  features,  and  to  the 
custom  of  his  company ;  for  those  were  days  when  careful 
attire  was  the  aristocrat's  prerogative,  and  clean  linen 
rendered  a  patriot  gravely  suspect. 

By  the  fire  two  men  were  talking  in  low  voices — 
Hebert,  sensual,  swollen  of  body,  fiat  and  pale  of  face; 
and  Marat,  a  misshapen,  stunted  creature  with  short, 
black,  curling  hair,  pinched  mouth,  and  dark,  malignant 
gaze. 

"We  get  no  further,"  complained  Hebert,  in  a  dull, 
oily  voice,  devoid  of  ring. 

Marat  shrugged  his  crooked  shoulders. 

"We  are  so  ideal,  so  virtuous,"  he  remarked  viciously. 
"We  were  so  shocked  in  September,  my  friend ;  you  should 
remember  that.  Blood  was  shed — actually  people  were 
killed — fie  then!  it  turns  our  weak  stomachs.  We  look 
askance  at  our  hands,  and  call  for  rose-water  to  wash 
them  in." 

"Very  pretty,"  drawled  Hebert,  pushing  the  fire  with 
his  foot.  "There  are  fools  in  the  world,  and  some  here, 
no  doubt;  but  after  all,  we  all  want  the  same  thing  in 
the  end,  though  some  make  a  boggle  at  the  price.  I 
want  power,  you  want  power,  Dan  ton  wants  it,  Camille 
wants  it,  and  so  does  even  your  piece  of  Incorruptibility 
yonder,  if  he  would  come  out  of  his  infernal  pose  and 
acknowledge  it." 

Robespierre  looked  up,  and  down  again.  No  one 
could  have  said  he  heard.  It  was  in  fact  not  possible, 
but  Hebert  grew  a  faint  shade  yellower,  and  Marat's 
eyes  glittered  maliciously. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "that's  just  it — just  the  trouble. 
We  all  want  the  same  thing,  and  we  are  all  afraid  to 
move,  for  fear  of  giving  it  to  some  one  else.     So  we 


The  Fate  of  a  King  109 

all  sit  twiddling  our  thumbs,  and  the  Gironde  calls  the 
tune." 

Hebert  swore,  and  spat  into  the  fire. 

"Now  Dan  ton  is  back,  he  will  not  twiddle  his  thumbs 
for  long,"  he  said;  "that  is  not  at  all  his  idea  of  amus- 
ing himself.  He  is  turning  things  over — chewing  the 
cud.  Presently,  you  will  see,  the  bull  will  bellow, 
and  the  whole  herd  will  trot  after  him." 

"Which  way?"  asked  Marat  sarcastically. 

"H'm — that  is  just  what  I  should   like  to  know." 

"And  our  Maximilian?" 

"What  does  he  mean?  What  does  he  want?" 
Hebert  broke  out  uneasily,  low- voiced.  "He  is  all  for 
mildness  and  temperance,  justice  and  sobriety ;  but  under 
it — under  it,  Marat?" 

Marat's  pointed  brows  rose  abruptly. 

"The  devil  knows,"  said  he,  "but  I  don't  believe 
Maximilian  does." 

Robespierre  looked  up  again  with  calm,  dispassionate 
gaze.  His  eye  dwelt  on  the  two  for  a  moment,  and 
dropped  to  the  page  before  him.  He  wrote  the  words, 
"Above  all  things  the  State" — and  deep  within  him  the 
imperishable  ego  cried  prophetic,  "L'Etat,  c'est  moi!" 

The  room  began  to  fill.  Men  came  in,  cursing  the 
cold,  shaking  snow  from  their  coats,  stamping  icy 
fragments  from  their  frozen  feet.  The  fire  was  popular. 
Hebert  and  Marat  were  crowded  from  the  place  they 
had  occupied,  and  a  buzz  of  voices  rose  from  every 
quarter.  Here  and  there  a  group  declaimed  or  argued, 
but  for  the  most  part  men  stood  in  twos  and  threes 
discussing  the  situation  in  confidential  tones. 

If  intellect  was  less  conspicuous  than  in  the  ranks  of 
the  Gironde,  it  was  by  no  means  absent,  and  many  faces 
there  bore  its  stamp,  and  that  of  ardent  sincerity.     For 


no       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

the  most  part  they  were  young,  these  men  whose  meeting 
was  to  make  History,  and  they  carried  into  politics  the 
excesses  and  the  violence  of  youth. 

Here  leaned  Herault  de  S^chelles,  one  of  the  hand- 
somest men  in  France;  there,  declaiming  eagerly,  to 
as  eager  a  circle  of  listeners,  was  St.  Just  with  that 
curious  pallor  which  made  his  face  seem  a  mere  trans- 
lucent mask  behind  which  there  burned  a  seven-times- 
heated  flame. 

"I  say  that  Louis  can  claim  no  rights  as  a  citizen. 
We  are  fighting,  not  trying  him.  The  law's  delays  are 
fatal  here.  One  day  posterity  will  be  amazed  that  we 
have  advanced  so  little  since  Caesar's  day.  What — 
patriots  were  found  then  to  immolate  the  tyrant  in 
open  Senate,  and  to-day  we  fear  to  lift  our  hands! 
There  is  no  citizen  to-day  who  has  not  the  right 
that  Brutus  had,  and  like  Brutus  he  might  claim 
to  be  his  country's  saviour!  Louis  has  fought  against 
the  people,  and  is  now  no  longer  a  Frenchman, 
but  a  stranger,  a  traitor,  and  a  criminal!  Strike, 
then,  that  the  tocsin  of  liberty  may  sound  the  birth 
hour  of  the  Nation  and  the  death  hour  of  the 
Tyrant!" 

"It  is  all  delay,  delay,"  said  Herault  gloomily  to 
young  Cl^ry.  "D^s^ze  works  hard.  Time  is  what  he 
wants — and  for  what?  To  hatch  new  treasons;  to  get 
behind  us,  and  stab  in  the  dark;  to  allow  Austria  to 
advance,  and  Spain  and  England  to  threaten  us!  No, 
they  have  had  time  enough  for  these  things.  It  is  the 
reckoning  day.  Thirty-eight  years  has  Louis  lived  and 
now  he  must  give  an  account  of  them." 

"My  faith,"  growled  Jean  Bon,  shaking  his  shaggy 
head,  to  which  the  winter  moisture  clung,  "My  faith, 
there  are  citizens  in  this  room  who  will  take  matters 


The  Fate  of  a  King  m 

into  their  own  hands  if  the  Convention  does  not  come 
to  the  point  very  shortly." 

"The  Convention  deliberates,"  said  H6rault  gloomily, 
and  Jean  Bon  interrupted  him  with  a  brutal  laugh — 

"Thunder  of  Heaven,  yes;  talk,  talk,  talk,  and  nothing 
done.  We  want  a  clear  policy.  We  want  Danton  to 
declare  himself,  and  Robespierre  to  stop  playing  the 
humanitarian,  and  say  what  he  means.  There  has  been 
enough  of  turning  phrases  and  lawyers*  tricks.  Louis 
alive  is  Louis  dangerous,  and  Louis  dead  is  Louis  dust; 
that 's  the  plain  truth  of  it. " 

"He  is  of  more  use  to  us  alive  than  dead,  I  should 
say, "  cried  Edmund  Cl^ry  impetuously.  "Are  we  in  so 
strong  a  position  as  to  be  able  with  impunity  to  destroy 
our  hostages?" 

Hubert,  who  had  joined  the  group,  turned  a  cold, 
remembering  eye  upon  him. 

"Austria  does  not  care  for  Capet,"  he  said  scornfully; 
"Antoinette  and  the  boy  are  all  the  hostages  we  require. 
Austria  does  not  even  care  about  them  very  much; 
but  such  as  they  are  they  will  serve.  Capet  must  die," 
and  he  sprang  on  a  bench  and  raised  his  voice: 

"Capet  must  die! — I  demand  his  blood  as  the  seal  of 
Republican  liberty.  If  he  lives,  there  will  be  endless 
plots  and  intrigues.  I  tell  you  it  is  his  life  now,  or  ours 
before  long.  The  people  is  a  hard  master  to  serve,  my 
friends.  To-day  they  want  a  Republic,  but  to-morrow 
they  may  take  a  fancy  to  their  old  plaything  again. 
'Limited  Monarchy!'  cries  some  fool,  and  forthwith  on 
goes  Capet's  crown,  and  off  go  our  heads!  A  smiling 
prospect,  hein,  mes  amis?" 

There  was  a  murmur,  part  protest,  part  encourage- 
ment. 

Hubert  went  on: 


112       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Some  one  says  deport  him;  he  can  do  no  more  harm 
than  the  Princes  are  doing  already.  Do  you  perhaps 
imagine  that  a  man  fights  as  well  for  his  brother's 
crown  as  for  his  own?  The  Princes  are  half-hearted — 
they  are  in  no  danger,  the  crown  is  none  of  theirs,  their 
wives  and  children  are  at  liberty ;  but  put  Capet  in  their 
place,  and  he  has  everything  to  gain  by  effort  and  all  to 
lose  by  quiescence.  I  say  that  the  man  who  says  *  Send 
Capet  out  of  France'  is  a  traitor  to  the  Republic,  and  a 
Monarchist  at  heart!  Another  citizen  says,  'Imprison 
him,  keep  him  shut  up  out  of  harm's  way.'  Out  of 
harm's  way — that  sounds  well  enough,  but  for  my  part 
I  have  no  fancy  for  living  over  a  powder  magazine. 
They  plot  and  conspire,  these  aristocrats.  They  do  it 
foolishly  enough,  I  grant  you,  and  we  find  them  out,  and 
clap  them  in  prison.  Now  and  then  there  is  a  little 
blood-letting.  Not  enough  for  me,  but  a  little.  Then 
what?  More  of  the  breed  at  the  same  game,  and  encore, 
and  encore.  Some  day,  my  friends,  we  shall  wake  up  and 
find  that  one  of  the  plots  has  succeeded.  Pretty  fools 
we  should  look  if  one  fine  morning  they  were  all  flown, 
our  hostages — Capet,  the  Austrian,  the  proud  jade  Eliza- 
beth, and  the  promising  youth.  Shall  I  tell  you  what 
would  be  the  next  thing?  Why,  our  immaculate  generals 
would  feel  it  their  duty  to  conclude  a  peace  with  profits. 
There  would  be  an  embracing,  a  fraternising,  a  reconcilia- 
tion on  our  frontiers,  and  hand  in  hand  would  come 
Austria  and  our  army,  conducting  Capet  to  his  faithful 
town  of  Paris.  It  is  only  Citizen  Robespierre  who  is 
incorruptible — meaner  mortals  do  not  pretend  to  it.  In 
our  generals'  place,  I  myself,  I  do  not  say  that  I  should 
not  do  the  same,  for  I  should  certainly  conclude  that  I 
was  being  governed  by  a  parcel  of  fools,  and  that  I  should 
do  well  to  prove  my  own  sanity  by  saving  my  head." 


The  Fate  of  a  King  113 

Danton  had  entered  as  Hubert  sprang  up.  His  loose 
shirt  displayed  the  powerful  bull-neck;  his  broad,  rugged 
forehead  and  deep-set  passionate  eyes  bespoke  the  rough 
power  and  magnetism  of  his  personality.  He  came  in 
quietly,  nodding  to  a  friend  here  and  there,  his  arm 
through  that  of  Camille  Desmoulins,  who,  with  dark  hair 
tossed  loosely  from  his  beautiful  brow,  and  strange  eyes 
glittering  with  a  visionary  light,  made  an  arresting  figure 
even  under  Danton's  shadow. 

In  happier  days  the  one  might  have  been  prophet, 
ruler,  or  statesman;  the  other  poet,  priest,  or  dreamer  of 
ardent  dreams ;  but  in  the  storm  of  the  Red  Terror  they 
rose,  they  passed,  they  fell;  for  even  Danton's  thunder 
failed  him  in  the  face  of  a  tempest  elemental  as  the 
crash  of  worlds  evolving  from  chaos. 

He  listened  now,  but  did  not  speak,  and  Camille,  at  his 
side,  flung  out  an  eager  arm. 

"The  man  must  die!"  he  shouted  in  a  clear,  ringing 
voice.  "The  people  call  for  his  blood,  France  calls  for 
his  blood,  the  Convention  calls  for  his  blood.  I  demand 
it  in  the  sacred  name  of  Liberty.  Let  the  scaffold  of  a 
King  become  the  throne  of  an  enduring  Republic!" 

Robespierre  looked  up  with  an  expression  of  calm 
curiosity.  These  wild  enthusiasms,  this  hot-blooded 
ardour,  how  strange,  how  inexplicable,  and  yet  at  times 
how  useful.  He  leaned  across  the  table  and  began  to 
speak  in  a  thin,  colourless  voice  that  somehow  made 
itself  heard,  and  enforced  attention. 

"  Capet  has  had  a  fair  trial  at  the  hands  of  a  righteous 
and  representative  Assembly.  If  the  Convention  is 
satisfied  that  he  is  innocent,  maligned  perhaps  by  men 
of  interested  motives" — there  was  a  slight  murmur  of 
dissent — "or  influenced  to  unworthy  deeds  by  those 
around  him,  or  merely  ignorant — strangely,  stupidly 
8 


114       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

ignorant — the  Convention  will  judge  him.  But  if  he  has 
sinned  against  the  Nation,  if  he  has  oppressed  the  people, 
if  he  has  given  them  stone  for  bread,  and  starvation  for 
prosperity — if  he  has  conspired  with  Austria  against  the 
integrity  of  France  in  order  to  bolster  up  a  tottering 
tyranny,  why,  then" — ^he  paused  whilst  a  voice  cried, 
"Shall  the  people  oppressed  through  the  ages  not  take 
their  revenge  of  a  day?"  and  an  excited  chorus  of  oaths 
and  execrations  followed  the  words — "why,  then,"  said 
the  thin  voice  coldly,  "still  I  say,  the  Convention  will 
judge  him." 

MaximiHan  Robespierre  took  up  his  pen  and  wrote  on. 
Something  in  his  words  had  fanned  the  scattered  embers 
into  flame,  and  strife  ran  high.  Jules  Dupuis,  foul- 
mouthed  and  blasphemous,  screamed  out  an  edged  tirade. 
Jean  Bon  boomed  some  commonplace  of  corroboration. 
Marat  spat  forth  a  venomous  word  or  two.  Robespierre 
folded  the  paper  on  which  he  wrote,  and  passed  the  note 
to  Danton  at  his  elbow.  The  great  head  bent,  the  deep 
eyes  read,  and  lifting,  fixed  themselves  on  Robespierre's 
pale  face.  It  was  a  face  as  strange  as  pale.  Below  the 
receding  brow  the  green,  unwinking  eyes  held  steady. 
The  red  spark  trembled  in  them  and  smouldered  to  a 
blaze. 

Danton  looked  strangely  at  him  for  a  moment,  and 
then,  throwing  back  his  great  shoulders  and  raising  his 
right  hand  high  above  the  crowd,  he  thundered: 

"Citizens,  Capet  must  die!" 

A  roar  of  applause  shook  the  room,  and  drowned  the 
reverberations  of  that  mighty  voice — Danton' s  voice, 
which  shook  not  only  the  Mountain  on  which  he  stood, 
and  from  which  he  fell,  but  France  beyond  and  Europe 
across  her  frontiers.  It  echoes  still,  and  comes  to  us 
across  the  years  with  all  the  man's  audacious  force,  his 


The  Fate  of  a  King  115 

pride  of  patriotism,  and  overwhelming  energy!  He 
raised  it  now,  and  beckoning  for  silence 

"We  are  all  agreed,"  he  cried,  "Louis  is  guilty,  and 
Louis  must  die.  If  he  lives,  there  is  not  a  life  safe  in  all 
France.  The  man  is  an  open  sore  on  the  flesh  of  the 
Constitution,  and  it  must  be  cut  away,  lest  gangrene  seize 
the  whole.  Above  all  there  must  be  no  delay.  Delay 
means  disintegration;  delay  means  a  people  without 
bread,  and  a  country  without  government.  Neither  can 
wait.  Away  with  Louis,  and  our  hands  are  free  to  do 
all  that  waits  to  be  done. " 

"The  frontiers — Europe — are  we  strong  enough?" 
shouted  a  voice  from  the  back. 

Danton's  eyes  blazed. 

"  Let  Europe  look  to  herself.  Let  Spain,  Austria,  and 
England  look  to  themselves.  The  rot  of  centuries  is  ripe 
at  last.  Other  thrones  may  totter,  and  other  tyrants  fall. 
Let  them  threaten — let  them  threaten,  but  we  will  dash 
a  gage  of  battle  at  their  feet — the  bloody  head  of  the 
King!" 

At  that  the  clamour  swallowed  everything.  Men 
cheered  and  embraced.  There  was  shouting  and  high 
applause. 

Danton  turned  from  the  riot  and  fell  into  earnest  talk 
with  Robespierre.     In  Hubert's  ear  Marat  whispered: 

"  As  you  said.    The  bull  has  roared,  and  we  all  follow." 

"All?"  asked  Hubert  significantly. 

"  Some  people  have  an  inexplicable  taste  for  being  in 
the  minority,"  said  Marat,  shrugging. 

"As,  for  instance?" 

"Our  young  friend  Dangeau." 

"Ah,  that  Dangeau, "  cursed  Hubert,  "  I  have  a  grudge 
against  him." 

"Very  ungrateful  of  you,  then,"  said  Marat  briskly; 


ii6       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"he  saved  Capet  and  his  family  at  a  time  when  it  suited 
none  of  us  that  they  should  die.  We  want  a  spectacle — 
something  imposing,  public,  solemn;  something  of  a  f^te, 
not  just  a  roaring  crowd,  a  pike-thrust  or  two,  and  pff !  it 
is  all  over." 

"It  is  true." 

"See  you,  Hebert,  when  we  have  closed  the  churches, 
and  swept  away  the  whole  machinery  of  superstition, 
what  are  we  going  to  give  the  people  instead  of  them? 
I  say  La  Republique  must  have  her  f^tes,  her  holidays, 
her  processions,  and  her  altars,  with  St.  Guillotine  as 
patron  saint,  and  the  good  Citizen  Sanson  as  officiating 
priest.  We  want  Capet's  blood,  but  can  we  stop  there? 
No,  a  thousand  times!  Paris  will  be  drunk,  and  then,  in 
a  trice,  Paris  will  be  thirsty  again.  And  the  oftener 
Paris  is  drunk,  the  thirstier  she  will  be,  until " 

"Well,  my  friend?"  Hebert  was  a  little  pale;  had  he 
any  premonition  of  the  day  when  he  too  should  kneel  at 
that  Republican  altar? 

Marat's  face  was  convulsed  for  a  moment. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said,  in  sombre  tones. 

"But  Dangeau, "  said  Hebert  after  a  pause,  "the 
fellow  sticks  in  my  gorge.  He  is  one  of  your  moral 
idealists,  who  want  to  cross  the  river  without  wetting 
their  feet.     He  has  not  common-sense. " 

"Danton  is  his  friend,"  said  Marat  with  intention. 

"Audit's  'ware  bull.'  " 

"I  know  that.  See  now  if  Danton  does  not  pack 
him  off  out  of  Paris  somewhere  until  this  business  is 
settled." 

"  He  might  give  trouble — yes,  he  might  give  trouble, " 
said  Marat  slowly. 

"He  is  altogether  too  popular,"  grunted  Hebert. 

Marat  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


The  Fate  of  a  King  117 

"Oh,  popularity,"  he  said,  "it  *s  here  to-day  and  gone 
to-morrow;  and  when  to-morrow  comes " 

"Well?" 

"Our  young  friend  will  have  to  choose  between  his 
precious  scruples  and  his  head!" 

Marat  strolled  off,  and  Jules  Dupuis  took  his 
place.  He  came  up  in  his  short  puce  coat,  guffaw- 
ing, and  purple-faced,  his  loose  skin  all  creased  with 
amusement. 

"He,  Hebert, "  he  chuckled,  "here  's  something  for  the 
Pere  Duchesne, "  and  plunged  forthwith  into  a  scurrilous 
story.  As  he  did  so,  the  door  opened  and  Dangeau  came 
in.  He  looked  pale  and  very  tired,  and  was  evidently 
cold,  for  he  made  his  way  to  the  fireplace,  and  stood 
leaning  against  it  looking  into  the  flame,  without  appear- 
ing to  notice  what  was  passing.  Presently,  however,  he 
raised  his  head,  recognising  the  two  men  beside  him  with 
a  curt  nod. 

Hubert  appeared  to  be  well  amused  by  Dupuis* 
tale.  Its  putrescent  scintillations  stimiilated  his  jaded 
fancy,  and  its  repulsive  denouement  evoked  his  oily 
laugh. 

Dangeau,  after  listening  for  a  moment  or  two,  moved 
farther  off,  a  slight  expression  of  disgust  upon  his 
face. 

Hebert's  light  eyes  followed  him. 

"The  Citizen  does  not  like  your  taste  in  wit,  my 
friend, "  he  observed  in  a  voice  carefully  pitched  to  reach 
Dangeau's  ear. 

Dupuis  laughed  grossly. 

"More  fool  he,  then,"  he  chuckled. 

"You  and  I,  mon  cher,  are  too  coarse  for  him," 
continued  Hebert  in  the  same  tone.  "The  Citizen  is 
modest.     Tiens!     How  beautiful  a  virtue  is  modesty! 


ii8       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

And  then,  you  see,  the  Citizen's  sympathies  are  with 
these  sacr^s  aristocrats." 

Dangeau  looked  up  with  a  glance  like  the  flash  of 
steel. 

"You  said,  Citizen — ?"  he  asked  smoothly. 

Hubert  shrugged  his  loosely-hung  shoulders. 

"If  I  said  the  Citizen  Deputy  had  a  tender  heart, 
should  I  be  incorrect?  Or,  perhaps,  a  weak  stomach 
would  be  nearer  to  the  truth.  Blood  is  such  a  dis- 
tressing sight,  is  it  not?" 

Dangeau  looked  at  him  steadily. 

"A  patriot  should  hold  his  own  life  as  lightly  as  he 
should  hold  that  of  every  other  citizen  sacred  until  the 
State  has  condemned  it,"  he  said  with  a  certain  quiet 
disgust;  "but  if  the  Citizen  says  that  I  sympathise  with 
what  has  been  condemned  by  the  State,  the  Citizen 
lies!" 

Hubert's  eyes  shifted  from  the  blue  danger  gleam. 
Bully  and  coward,  he  had  the  weakness  of  all  his  type 
when  faced.  He  preferred  the  unresisting  victim  and 
could  not  afford  an  open  quarrel  with  Dangeau.  Danton 
was  in  the  room,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  offend  Danton 
yet.  He  moved  away  with  a  sneer  and  a  mocking 
whisper  in  the  ear  of  Jules  Dupuis. 

Dangeau  stood  warming  himself.  His  back  was 
straighter,  his  eye  less  tired.  The  little  interchange  of 
hostilities  had  roused  the  fire  in  his  veins  again,  and  for 
the  moment  the  cloud  of  misgiving  which  had  shadowed 
him  for  the  last  few  days  was  lifted.  When  Danton 
came  across  and  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder,  he  looked 
up  with  the  smile  to  which  he  owed  more  than  one  of 
his  friends,  since  to  a  certain  noble  gravity  of  aspect  it 
lent  a  very  human,  almost  boyish,  warmth  and  glow. 

"Back  again,  and  busy  again?"  he  said,  turning. 


The  Fate  of  a  King  119 

"Busier  than  ever,"  said  Danton,  with  a  frown.  He 
raised  his  shoulders  as  if  he  felt  a  weight  upon  them. 
"  Once  this  business  of  Capet's  is  arranged,  we  can  work ; 
at  present  it 's  just  chaos  all  round." 

Dangeau  leaned  closer  and  spoke  low. 

"  I  was  detained — have  only  just  come.  Has  anything 
been  done — decided?" 

*'We  are  unanimous,  I  think.  I  spoke,  they  all 
agreed.  Robespierre  is  with  us,  and  his  party  is  well 
in  hand.  Death  is  the  only  thing,  and  the  sooner  the 
better." 

Dangeau  did  not  speak,  and  Danton's  eye  rested  on 
him  with  a  certain  impatience. 

"Sentiment  will  serve  neither  France  nor  us  at  this 
juncture,"  he  said  on  a  deep  note,  rough  with  irritation. 
"He  has  conspired  with  Austria,  and  would  bring  in 
foreign  troops  upon  us  without  a  single  scruple.  What 
is  one  man's  life?     He  must  die." 

Dangeau  looked  down. 

"Yes,  he  must  die,"  he  said  in  a  low,  grave  voice,  and 
there  was  a  momentary  silence.  He  stared  into  the  fire, 
and  saw  the  falling  embers  totter  like  a  mimic  throne, 
and  fall  into  the  sea  of  flame  below.  A  cloud  of  sparks 
flew  up,  and  were  lost  in  blackness. 

"Life  is  like  that,"  he  said,  half  to  himself. 

Danton  walked  away,  his  big  head  bent,  the  veins  of 
his  throat  swollen. 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  IRREVOCABLE  VOTE 

D ANTON  returned  was  Danton  in  action.  Force 
possessed  the  party  once  more  and  drove  it  re- 
sistless to  its  goal.  Permanent  Session  was  moved,  and 
carried — permanent  Session  of  the  National  Convention 
— until  its  near  five  hundred  members  had  voted  one  by- 
one  on  the  three  all-important  questions:  Louis  Capet, 
is  he  guilty,  or  not  guilty?  Shall  the  Convention  judge 
him,  or  shall  there  be  a  further  delay,  an  appeal  to  the 
people  of  France?  If  the  Convention  judges,  what  is 
its  judgment — imprisonment,  banishment,  or  death? 

Forthwith  began  the  days  of  the  Three  Votings, 
stirring  and  dramatic  days  seen  through  the  mist  of 
years  and  the  dust-clouds  raised  by  groping  historians. 
What  must  they  have  been  to  live  through? 

It  was  Wednesday  evening,  January  i6,  and  lamps 
were  lit  in  the  Hall  of  the  Convention,  but  their  glow 
shone  chiefly  on  the  tribune,  and  beyond  there  crowded 
the  shadows,  densely  mysterious.  Vergniaud,  the 
President,  wore  a  haggard  face — his  eyes  were  hot  and 
weary,  for  he  was  of  the  Gironde,  and  the  Gironde 
began  to  know  that  the  day  was  lost.  He  called  the 
names  sonorously,  with  a  voice  that  had  found  its  pitch 
and  kept  it  in  spite  of  fatigue;  and  as  he  called,  the  long 
procession  of  members  rose,  passed  for  an  instant  to  the 


The  Irrevocable  Vote  121 

lighted  tribune,  and  voted  audibly  in  the  hearing  of  the 
whole  Convention.  Each  man  voted,  and  passed  again 
into  the  shadow.  So  we  see  them — between  the  dark 
past  and  the  dark  future — caught  for  an  instant  by  that 
one  flash  which  brands  them  on  history's  film  for  ever. 

Loud  Jacobin  voices  boomed  "Death,"  and  ranted  of 
treason;  epigrams  were  made  to  the  applause  of  the 
packed  galleries.  For  the  people  of  Paris  had  crowded 
in,  and  every  available  inch  of  room  was  packed.  Here 
were  the  iricoteuses — those  knitting  women  of  the 
Revolution,  whose  steel  needles  were  to  flash  before  the 
eyes  of  so  many  of  the  guillotine's  waicing  victims,  before 
the  eyes  indeed  of  many  and  many  an  honourable 
Deputy  voting  here  to-night.  Here  were  swart  men  of 
St.  Antoine's  quarter — brewers,  bakers,  oilmen,  butchers, 
all  the  trades — whispering,  listening,  leaning  over  the 
rail,  now  applauding  to  the  echo,now  hissing  indignantly, 
as  the  vote  pleased  or  displeased  them.  Death  demanded 
with  a  spice  of  wit  pleased  the  most — a  voice  faltering 
on  a  timorous  recommendation  to  mercy  evoked  the 
loudest  jeers. 

Dangeau  sat  in  his  place  and  heard  the  long,  reverber- 
ating roll  of  names,  until  his  own  struck  strangely  on  his 
ear.  He  rose  and  mounted  into  the  smoky,  yellow  glare 
of  the  lamps  that  swung  above  the  tribune.  Vergniaud 
faced  him,  dignified  and  calm. 

"Your  vote.  Citizen?"  and  Dangeau,  in  clear,  grave 
reply : 

"Death,  Citizen  President." 

Here  there  was  nothing  to  tickle  the  waiting  ears 
above,  and  he  passed  down  the  steps  again  in  silence, 
whilst  another  succeeded  him,  and  to  that  other  another 
yet.  All  that  long  night,  and  all  the  next  long  day,  the 
voices  never  ceased.     Now  they  rang  loud  and  full, 


122       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 


I 


now  low  and  hesitating;  and  after  each  vote  came  the 
people's  comment  of  applause,  dissent,  or  silence. 

Dangeau  passed  into  one  of  the  lower  galleries  re- 
served for  members  and  their  friends.  His  limbs  were 
cramped  with  the  long  session,  and  his  throat  was 
parched  and  dry;  coffee  was  to  be  had,  he  knew,  and  he 
was  in  quest  of  it.  As  he  got  clear  of  the  thronged 
entrance,  a  strange  sight  met  his  eye,  for  the  gallery 
resembled  a  box  at  the  opera,  infinitely  extended. 

Bare-necked  women  flashed  their  diamonds  and  their 
wit,  chattering,  laughing,  and  exchanging  sallies  with 
their  friends. 

Refreshments  were  being  passed  round,  and  Deputies 
who  were  at  leisure  bowed,  and  smiled,  and  did  the 
honours,  as  if  it  were  a  place  of  amusement,  and  not  a 
hall  of  judgment. 

'  A  bold,  brown-faced  woman,  with  magnificent  black 
eyes,  her  full  figure  much  accentuated  by  a  flaring 
tricolour  sash,  swept  to  the  front  of  the  gallery,  and 
looked  down.  In  her  wake  came  a  sleepy,  white-fleshed 
blonde,  mincing  as  she  walked.  She  too  wore  the  tri- 
colour, and  Dangeau's  lips  curled  at  the  desecration. 

"Philippe  is  voting,"  cried  the  brown  woman  loudly. 
"See,  Jeanne,  there  he  comes!" 

Dangeau  looked  down,  and  saw  Philippe  Egalite,  some- 
time Philippe  d' Orleans,  prince  of  the  blood  and  cousin 
of  the  King,  pass  up  the  tribune  steps.  Under  the  lamps 
his  face  showed  red  and  blotched,  his  eyes  unsteady ;  but 
he  walked  jauntily,  twisting  a  seal  at  his  fob.  His  attire 
bespoke  the  dandy,  his  manner  the  poseur.  Opposite  to 
Vergniaud  he  bowed  with  elegance,  and  cried  in  a  voice 
of  loud  effrontery,  "I  vote  for  Death." 

Through  the  Assembly  ran  a  shudder  of  recoil. 
Natural  feeling  was  not  yet  brayed  to  dust  in  the  mortar 


The  Irrevocable  Vote  123 

of  the  Revolution,  and  it  thrilled  and  quickened  to  the 
spectacle  of  kinsman  rising  against  kinsman,  and  the  old 
blood  royal  of  France  turning  from  its  ruined  head 
publicly,  and  in  the  sight  of  all  men. 

"It  is  good  that  Louis  should  die,  but  it  is  not  good 
that  Philippe  should  vote  for  his  death.  Has  the  man 
no  decency?"  growled  Danton  at  Dangeau*s  ear. 

Long  after,  when  his  own  hour  was  striking,  Philippe 
d' Orleans  protested  that  he  had  voted  upon  his  soul  and 
conscience — the  soul  whose  existence  he  denied,  and 
the  conscience  whose  voice  he  had  stifled  for  forty  years. 
Be  that  between  him  and  that  soul  and  conscience,  but, 
as  he  descended  the  tribune  steps,  Girondin,  Jacobin, 
and  Cordelier  alike  drew  back  from  him,  and  men  who 
would  have  cried  death  to  the  King's  cousin,  cried  none 
the  less,  "Shame  on  Egalit6!" 

Only  the  bold  brown  woman  and  her  companion 
laughed.  The  former  even  leaned  across  the  bar  and 
kissed  her  hand,  waving,  and  beckoning  him. 

Dangeau's  gaze,  half  sardonically  curious,  half  dis- 
gusted, rested  upon  the  scene. 

"All  posterity  will  gaze  upon  what  is  done  this  day, "  he 
said  in  a  low  voice  to  Danton — "and  they  will  see  this. " 

"The  grapes  are  trodden,  the  wine  ferments,  and  the 
scum  rises,"  returned  Danton  on  a  deep,  growling  note. 

' '  Such  scum  as  this  ?  " 

"Just  such  scum  as  this!"  <    - 

Below,  one  of  the  Girondins  voted  for  imprisonment, 
and  the  upper  galleries  hissed  and  rocked. 

"Death,  death,  death!"  cried  the  next  in  order. 

"Death,  and  not  so  much  talk  about  it!" 

"Death,  by  all  means  death!" 

The  blonde  woman,  Jeanne  Fresnay,  was  pricking  off 
the  votes  on  a  card. 


124       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Ah— at  last!"  she  laughed.  "I  thought  I  should 
never  get  the  hundred.  Now  we  have  one  for  banish- 
ment, ten  for  imprisonment,  and  a  hundred  for  death." 

The  brown  Marguerite  Didier  produced  her  own  card 
— a  dainty  trifle  tied  with  a  narrow  tricolour  ribbon. 

"You  are  wrong,"  she  said — "it  is  but  eight  for  im- 
prisonment. You  give  him  two  more  chances  of  life 
than  there  is  any  need  to. " 

"That  *s  because  I  love  him  so  well.  Is  he  not 
Philippe's  cousin?"  drawled  the  other,  making  'the 
correction. 

Philippe  himself  leaned  suddenly  between  them. 

"I  should  be  jealous,  it  appears,"  he  said  smoothly. 
"Who  is  it  that  you  love  so  much?" 

The  bare  white  shoulders  were  lifted  a  little  farther 
out  of  their  very  scanty  drapery. 

"Eh — that  charming  cousin  Veto  of  yours.  Since  you 
love  him  so  well,  I  am  sure  I  may  love  him  too.  May  I 
not?" 

Philippe's  laugh  was  a  little  hoarse,  though  ready 
enough. 

"But  certainly,  ch^re  amie,"  he  said.  "Have  I  not 
just  proved  my  affection  to  the  whole  world?" 

Mademoiselle  Didier  laughed  noisily  and  caught  him 
by  the  arm. 

"There,  let  him  go,"  she  said  with  impatience.  "At 
the  last  he  bores  one,  your  good  cousin.  We  want  more 
bonbons,  and  I  should  like  coffee.  It  is  cold  enough  to 
freeze  one,  with  so  much  coming  and  going." 

Again  Dangeau  turned  to  his  companion. 

"An  edifying  spectacle,  is  it  not?"  he  asked. 

Danton  shrugged  his  great  shoulders. 

"Mere  scum  and  froth,"  he  said.  "Let  it  pass.  I 
want  to  speak  to  you.     You  are  to  be  sent  on  mission.  '* 


The  Irrevocable  Vote  125 

"On  mission?" 

"Why,  yes.  You  can  be  useful,  or  I  am  much  mis- 
taken. It  is  this  way.  The  South  is  unsatisfactory. 
There  is  a  regular  campaign  of  newspaper  calumny  going 
on,  and  something  must  be  done,  or  we  shall  have  trouble. 
I  thought  of  sending  you  and  Bonnet.  You  are  to  make 
a  tour  of  the  cities,  see  the  principal  men,  hold  public 
meetings,  explain  our  aims,  our  motives.  It  is  work 
which  should  suit  you,  and  more  important  than  any 
you  could  do  in  Paris  at  present." 

Dangeau's  eyes  sparkled;  a  longing  for  action  flared 
suddenly  up  in  him. 

"I  will  do  my  best,"  he  said  in  a  new,  eager  voice. 

''You  should  start  as  soon  as  this  business  is 
over."  Danton's  heavy  brow  clouded.  "Faugh!  It 
stops  us  at  every  turn.  I  have  a  thousand  things  to 
do,  and  Louis  blocks  the  way  to  every  one.  Wait  till 
my  hands  are  free,  and  you  shall  see  what  we  will  make 
of  France!" 

"I  will  be  ready,"  said  Dangeau. 

Danton  had  called  for  coffee,  and  stood  gulping  it  as 
he  talked.  Now,  as  he  set  the  cup  down,  he  laid  his  hand 
on  Dangeau's  shoulder  a  moment,  and  then  moved  off 
muttering  to  himself: 

"This  place  is  stifling — the  scent,  the  rouge.  What 
do  women  do  in  an  affair  of  State?" 

In  Dangeau's  mind  rose  a  vision  of  Aline  de  Rocham- 
beau,  cool,  delicate,  and  virginal,  and  the  air  of  the 
gallery  became  intolerable.  As  he  went  out  in  Danton's 
wake,  he  passed  a  handsome,  dark-eyed  girl  who  stared 
at  him  with  an  inviting  smile.  Lost  in  thought,  he  bowed 
very  slightly  and  was  gone.  His  mind  was  all  at  once 
obsessed  with  the  vision  he  had  evoked.  It  came  upon 
him  very  poignantly  and  sweetly,  and  yet — yet — that 


126       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

vote  of  his,  that  irrevocable  vote.     What  would  she  say 
to  that? 

Duty  led  men  by  strange  ways  in  those  strange  days. 
Only  of  one  thing  could  a  man  take  heed — that  he  should 
be  faithful  to  his  ideals,  and  constant  in  the  path  which 
he  had  chosen,  even  though  across  it  lay  the  shadows  of 
disillusion  and  bitterness  darkening  to  the  final  abyss. 
There  could  be  no  turning  back. 

The  dark  girl  flushed  and  bit  an  angrily  twitching  lip 
as  she  stared  after  Dangeau's  retreating  figure.  When 
Hubert  joined  her,  she  turned  her  shoulder  on  him,  and 
threw  him  a  black  look. 

"Why  did  you  leave  me?"  she  cried  hotly.  "Am  I  to 
stand  here  alone,  for  any  beast  to  insult?" 

"  Poor,  fluttered  dove, "  said  Hubert,  sneering.  He  slid 
an  easy  arm  about  her  waist.  "Come  then,  Th^r^se,  no 
sulks.  Look  over  and  watch  that  fool  Girondin  yonder. 
He  *s  dying,  they  say,  but  must  needs  be  carried  here  to 
vote  for  mercy." 

I    As  he  spoke  he  drew  her  forward,  and  still  with  a 
dark  glow  upon  her  cheeks  she  yielded. 


CHAPTER  XII 

SEPARATION 

ROSALIE  LEBCEUF  sat  behind  her  counter  knitting. 
Even  on  this  cold  January  day  the  exertion 
seemed  to  heat  her.  She  paused  at  intervals,  and  waved 
the  huge,  half -completed  stocking  before  her  face,  to 
produce  a  current  of  air.  Swinging  her  legs  from  the 
counter,  and  munching  an  apple  noisily,  was  a  handsome, 
heavy-browed  young  woman,  whose  fine  high  colour  and 
bold  black  eyes  were  sufficiently  well  known  and  admired 
amongst  a  certain  set.  An  atmosphere  of  vigour  and 
perfect  health  appeared  to  surround  her,  and  she  had 
that  pose  and  air  which  come  from  superb  vitality  and 
complete  self-satisfaction.  If  the  strait-laced  drew  their 
skirts  aside  and  stuck  virtuous  noses  in  the  air  when 
Ther^se  Marcel  was  mentioned,  it  was  very  little  that 
that  young  woman  cared. 

She  and  Rosalie  were  first  cousins,  and  the  respectable 
widow  Leboeuf  winked  at  Th^r^se's  escapades,  in  con- 
sideration of  the  excellent  and  spicy  gossip  which  she 
could  often  retail. 

Rosalie  was  nothing  if  not  curious ;  and  just  now  there 
was  a  very  savoury  subject  to  hand,  for  Paris  had  seen 
her  King  strip  to  the  headsman,  and  his  blood  flow  in  the 
midst  of  his  capital  town. 

127, 


128       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"You  should  have  been  there,  ma  cousine,"  said 
Th^rese  between  two  bites  of  her  apple. 

"I?"  said  Rosalie  in  her  thick,  drawling  way.  "I  am 
no  longer  young  enough,  nor  slim  enough,  to  push  and 
struggle  for  a  place.  But  tell  me  then,  Th^r^se,  was 
he  pale?" 

Therdse  threw  away  the  apple  core,  and  showed  all 
her  splendid  teeth  in  a  curious  feline  mixture  of  laugh 
and  yawn. 

"Well,  so-so,"  she  said  lazily;  *'but  he  was  calm 
enough.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  he  was  all  of  a  sweat 
and  a  tremble  on  the  tenth  of  August,  but  he  did  n't  show 
it  yesterday.  I  was  well  in  front, — Heaven  be  praised, 
I  have  good  friends, — and  his  face  did  not  even  twitch 
when  he  saw  the  steel.  He  looked  at  it  for  a  moment 
or  two, — one  would  have  said  he  was  curious, — and  then 
he  began  to  speak." 

Rosalie  gave  a  little  shudder,  but  her  face  was  full  of 
enjoyment. 

"Ah,"  she  breathed,  leaning  forward  a  little. 

"He  declared  that  he  died  innocent,  and  wishing 
France — nobody  knows  what;  for  Santerre  ordered  the 
drums  to  be  beaten,  and  we  could  not  hear  the  rest.  I 
owe  him  a  grudge,  that  Santerre,  for  cutting  the  spec- 
tacle short.  What,  I  ask  you,  does  he  imagine  one  goes 
to  the  play  in  order  to  miss  the  finest  part,  and  I  with  a 
front  place,  too !  But  they  say  he  was  afraid  there  would 
be  a  rescue.  I  could  have  told  him  better.  We  are 
not  fools!" 

"And  then ?" 

"Well,  thanks  to  the  drums,  you  couldn't  hear;  but 
there  was  a  whispering  with  the  Abbe,  and  Sanson  hesi- 
tating and  shivering  like  a  cat  with  a  wet  paw  and  the 
gutter  to  cross.     Everything  was  ready,  but  it  seems  he 


Separation  129 

had  qualms — that  Sanson.  The  National  Guards  were 
muttering,  and  the  good  M^re  Garnet  next  to  me  began 
to  shout,  '  Death  to  the  Tyrant, '  only  no  one  heard  her 
because  of  Santerre's  drums,  when  suddenly  he  bellowed, 
'  Executioner,  do  your  duty ! '  and  Gitizen  Sanson  seemed 
to  wake  up.  It  was  all  over  in  a  flash  then;  the  Ahh6 
whispered  once,  called  out  loudly,  and  pchtt!  down 
came  the  knife,  and  off  came  the  head.  Rose  Lacour 
fainted  just  at  my  elbow,  the  silly  baggage ;  but  for  me, 
I  found  it  exciting — more  exciting  than  the  theatre.  I 
should  have  liked  to  clap  and  call  'Encore!'  '* 

Rosalie  leaned  back,  fanning,  her  broad  face  a  shade 
paler,  whilst  the  girl  went  on: 

"His  eyes  were  still  open  when  Sanson  held  up  the 
head,  and  the  blood  went  drip,  drip,  drip.  We  were  all 
so  quiet  then  that  you  could  hear  it.  I  tell  you  that 
gave  one  a  sensation,  my  cousin!" 

"Blood — ouf!"  said  Rosalie;  "I  do  not  like  to  see 
blood.     I  cannot  digest  my  food  after  it." 

"For  me,  I  am  a  better  patriot  than  you,"  laughed 
Th^rdse;  "and  if  it  is  a  tyrant's  blood  that  I  see,  it 
warms  my  heart  and  does  it  good." 

A  shudder  ran  through  Rosalie's  fat  mass.  She  lifted 
her  bulky  knitting  and  fanned  assiduously  with  it. 

Her  companion  burst  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"Eh,  ma  cousine,  if  you  could  see  yourself!"  she 
cried. 

"It  is  true,"  said  Rosalie,  with  composure,  "I  grow 
stouter;  but  at  your  age,  Ther^se,  I  was  slighter  than 
you.  It  is  the  same  with  us  all — at  twenty  we  are  thin, 
at  thirty  we  are  plump,  and  at  forty — "  She  waved 
a  fat  hand  over  her  expansive  form  and  shrugged  an 
explanatory  shoulder,  whilst  her  small  eyes  dwelt  with 
a  malicious  expression  on  Ther^se's  frowning  face. 
9 


13 o       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

The  girl  lifted  the  handsomest  shoulders  in  Paris. 
"I  am  not  a  stick,"  she  observed,  with  that  ready  flush 
of  hers;  "it  is  these  thin  girls,  whom  one  cannot  see  if 
one  looks  at  them  sideways,  who  grow  so  stout  later  on. 
I  shall  stay  as  I  am,  or  maybe  get  scraggy — quel  hor- 
reur!" — and  she  shuddered  a  little — "but  it  will  not 
be  yet  awhile." 

Rosalie  nodded. 

"You  are  not  thirty  yet,"  she  said  comfortably, 
"and  you  are  a  fine  figure  of  a  woman.  'T  is  a  pity 
Citizen  Dangeau  cannot  be  made  to  see  it!" 

Up  went  Ther^se's  head  in  a  trice,  and  her  bold 
colour  mounted. 

"H^!" — she  snorted  contemptuously — "is  he  the 
world?     Others  are  not  so  blind. " 

There  was  a  pause.  Rosalie  knitted,  smiling  broadly, 
whilst  Th^rese  caught  a  second  apple  from  a  piled 
basket,  and  began  to  play  with  it. 

"He  is  going  away,"  said  Rosalie  abruptly,  and 
Therese  dropped  the  apple,  which  rolled  away  into  a 
comer. 

"Tctt,  tctt,"  clicked  Rosalie,  "you  have  an  open 
hand  with  other  folk's  goods,  my  girl!  Yes,  certainly 
Citizen  Dangeau  is  going  away,  and  why  not?  There 
is  nothing  to  keep  him  here  that  I  know  of." 

"For  how  long?"  asked  Therese,  staring  out  of  the 
window. 

"One  month,  two,  three — how  do  I  know,  my  cab- 
bage? It  is  business  of  the  State,  and  in  such  matters, 
you  should  know  more  than  I." 

"When  does  he  go?" 

"To-morrow,"  said  Rosalie  cheerfully,  for  to  torment 
Th^r^se  was  a  most  exhilarating  employment,  and 
one   that  she  much   enjoyed.     It  vindicated   her  own 


Separation  131 

virtue,  and  at  the  same  time  indulged  her  taste  for 
gossip. 

Therese  sprang  up,  and  paced  the  small  shop  with 
something  wild  in  her  gait. 

"Why  does  he  go?"  she  asked  excitedly.  "He  used 
to  smile  at  me,  to  look  when  he  passed,  and  now  he  goes 
another  way;  he  turns  his  head,  he  elbows  me  aside. 
Does  he  think  I  am  one  of  those  tame  milk-and-water 
misses,  who  can  be  taken  up  one  minute  and  dropped 
the  next?  If  he  thinks  that,  he  is  very  much  mistaken. 
Who  has  taken  him  from  me?  I  insist  on  knowing;  I 
insist  that  you  tell  me!" 

"Chut,"  said  Rosalie,  with  placid  pleasure,  "he  never 
was  yours  to  take,  and  that  you  know  as  well  as  I." 

"He  looked  at  me,"  and  Th^rese's  coarse  contralto 
thrilled  tragically  over  the  words. 

"Half  Paris  does  that."  Rosalie  paused  and  counted 
her  stitches.  "One,  two,  three,  four,  knit  two  together. 
Why  not?  you  are  good  to  look  at.  No  one  has  denied 
it  that  I  know  of." 

"He  smiled. "  Her  eyes  glared  under  the  close-drawn 
brows,  but  Rosalie  laughed. 

"Not  if  you  looked  at  him  like  that,  I  '11  warrant;  but 
as  to  smiling — he  smiles  at  me  too,  dear  cousin." 

Th^r^se  flung  herself  into  a  chair,  with  a  sharp-caught 
breath. 

"And  at  whom  else?  Tell  me  that,  tell  me  that,  for 
there  is  some  one — some  one.  He  thinks  of  her,  he 
dreams  of  her,  and  pushes  past  other  people  as  if  they 
were  posts.     If  I  knew,  if  I  only  knew  who  it  was " 

"Well?"  said  Rosalie  curiously. 

"I  'd  twist  her  neck  for  her,  or  get  Mme  Guillotine  to 
save  me  the  trouble,"  said  Therese  viciously. 

As  she  spoke,  the  door  swung  open,  and  Mile  de 


132       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

Rochambeau  came  in.  She  had  been  out  to  make  some 
trifling  purchase,  and,  nervous  of  the  streets,  she  had 
hurried  a  good  deal.  Haste  and  the  cold  air  had  brought 
a  bright  colour  to  her  cheeks,  her  eyes  shone,  and  her 
breath  came  more  quickly  than  usual. 

Ther^se  started  rudely,  and  seeing  her  pass  through 
the  shop  with  the  air  of  one  at  home,  she  started  up, 
and  with  a  quick  spring  placed  herself  between  Mad- 
emoiselle and  the  inner  door. 

For  a  moment  Aline  hesitated,  and  then,  with  a  mur- 
mured "Pardon,"  advanced  a  step. 

"Who  are  you?"  demanded  Ther^se,  in  her  roughest 
voice. 

Rosalie  looked  up  with  an  expression  of  annoyance. 
Really  Therese  and  her  scenes  were  past  bearing,  though 
they  were  amusing,  for  a  little. 

"  I  am  Marie  Roche, "  said  Mademoiselle  quietly.  "  I 
lodge  here,  and  work  for  my  living.  Is  there  anything 
else  you  would  like  to  ask  me?" 

Therese's  eyes  flashed,  and  she  gave  a  loud,  angry 
laugh. 

"Eh — listen  to  her,"  she  cried,  "only  listen.  Yes, 
there  is  a  good  deal  I  should  like  to  ask — amongst  other 
things,  where  you  got  that  face,  and  those  hands,  if  your 
name  is  Marie  Roche.  Aristocrat,  that  is  what  you  are 
— aristocrat!"  and  she  pushed  her  flushed  face  close  to 
Mademoiselle's  rapidly  paling  one. 

"Chut,  Therese!"  commanded  Rosalie  angrily. 

"I  say  she  is  an  aristocrat,"  shouted  Therese,  swing- 
ing round  upon  her  cousin. 

"Fiddlesticks,"  said  Rosalie;  "the  girl  *s  harmless,  and 
her  name  's  her  own,  right  enough." 

"With  that  face,  those  hands?     Am  I  an  imbecile?" 

"Do  I  know,  I?"  and  Rosalie  shrugged  her  mountain- 


Separation  133 

ous  shoulders.  "Bah,  Ther^se,  what  a  fuss  about  nothing. 
Is  it  the  girl's  fault  if  her  mother  was  pretty  enough  to 
take  the  seigneur's  fancy?" 

The  scarlet  colour  leapt  into  Mademoiselle's  face. 
The  rough  tones,  the  coarse  laugh  with  which  Rosalie 
ended,  and  which  Ther^se  echoed,  offended  her  im- 
measurably, and  she  was  far  from  feeling  grateful  for  the 
former's  interference.  She  pushed  past  her  opponent, 
and  ran  up  the  stairs  without  pausing  to  take  breath. 

Meanwhile  Ther^se  turned  violently  upon  her  cousin. 

"Aristocrat  or  not,  she  has  taken  Dangeau  from  me, " 
she  screamed,  with  the  sudden  passion  which  makes  her 
type  so  dangerous.  "Why  did  you  not  tell  me  you  had 
a  girl  in  the  house? — though  what  he  can  see  in  such  a 
pinched,  mincing  creature  passes  me.  Why  did  you  not 
tell  me,  I  say?     Why?     Why?" 

"Eh,  ma  foi!  because  you  fatigue  me,  you  and  your 
tempers, "  said  Rosalie  crossly.  "  Is  this  your  house,  par 
exemple,  that  I  must  ask  you  before  I  take  any  one  to 
live  in  it?  If  the  man  likes  you,  take  him,  and  wel- 
come. I  am  not  preventing  you.  And  if  he  does  n't 
like  you,  what  can  I  do,  I?  Am  I  to  say  to  him, '  Pray, 
Citizen  Dangeau,  be  careful  you  do  not  speak  to  any 
girl,  except  my  cousin  Th^r^se?  '  It  is  your  own  fault, 
not  mine.  Why  did  n't  you  marry  like  a  respectable 
girl,  instead  of  taking  Heaven  knows  how  many  lovers? 
Is  it  a  secret?  Bah!  all  Paris  knows  it;  and  do  you 
think  Dangeau  is  ignorant?  There  was  Bonnet,  and 
Hebert,  and  young  Clery,  and  who  knows  how  many 
since.  Ciel!  you  tire  me,"  and  Rosalie  bent  over  her 
knitting,  muttering  to  herself,  and  picking  fiercely  at 
dropped  stitches. 

Th^r^se  picked  up  an  apple  and  swung  it  from  one 
hand  to  another,  her  brows  level,  the  eyes  beneath  them 


134       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

dangerously  veiled.  Some  day  she  would  give  herself 
the  pleasure  of  paying  her  cousin  Rosalie  out  for  that 
little  speech.  Some  day,  but  not  to-day,  she  would  tear 
those  fat,  creased  cheeks  with  her  nails,  wrench  out  a 
few  of  the  sleek  black  braids  above,  sink  strangling 
fingers  into  the  soft,  fleshy  rolls  below.  She  gritted  her 
teeth,  and  slipped  the  apple  deftly  to  and  fro.  Presently 
she  spoke  in  a  tolerably  natural  voice : 

"It  is  not  every  one  who  is  so  blind,  voyez-vous,  ma 
cousine." 

As  she  spoke,  Dangeau  came  through  the  shop  door. 
He  was  in  a  hurry — these  were  days  of  hurry — and  he 
hardly  noticed  that  Rosalie  was  not  alone,  until  he  found 
Therese  in  his  path.  She  was  all  bold  smiles,  and  a 
glitter  of  black  eyes,  in  a  moment. 

"The  Citizen  forgets  an  old  friend.'* 

"But  no,"  he  returned,  smiling. 

"  It  is  so  long  since  we  met,  that  I  thought  the  Citizen 
might  have  forgotten  me." 

"Is  it  so  long?"  asked  Dangeau  innocently;  "surely 
I  saw  you  somewhere  lately.  Ah,  I  have  it — at  the 
trial?" 

"Ah,  then  you  remember,"  cried  Th^r^se,  clapping 
her  hands. 

Dangeau  nodded,  rather  puzzled  by  her  manner,  and 
Rosalie  permitted  herself  an  audible  chuckle.  Therese 
turned  on  her  with  a  flash,  and  as  she  did  so  Dangeau 
bowed,  murmured  an  excuse,  and  passed  on.  This  time 
Rosalie  laughed  outright,  and  the  sound  was  like  a 
spark  in  a  powder-magazine.  Red  rage,  violent,  uncon- 
trollable, flared  in  Therese's  brain,  and,  all  considera- 
tions of  prudence  forgotten,  she  launched  herself  with  a 
tigress's  bound  straight  at  her  cousin's  ponderous  form. 

She  had  reckoned  without  her  host. 


Separation  13S 

Inside  those  fat  arms  reposed  muscles  of  steel,  behind 
those  small  pig's  eyes  lay  a  very  cool,  ruthless,  and 
determined  brain,  and  Therese  felt  herself  caught,  held, 
propelled  across  the  floor,  and  launched  into  the  street, 
all  before  she  could  send  a  second  rending  shriek  after 
her  first  scream  of  fury. 

Rosalie  closed  and  latched  the  door,  and  sank  panting, 
perspiring,  but  triumphant,  into  her  seat  again. 

"Be  calm,"  she  observed,  between  her  gasps;  "be 
wise,  and  go  home.  For  me,  I  bear  no  malice,  but  for 
you,  my  poor  Therese,  you  will  certainly  die  in  an 
apoplexy  some  fine  day  if  you  excite  yourself  so  much. 
Ouf — how  out  of  breath  I  am!" 

Therese  stood  rigid,  her  face  convulsed  with  fury,  her 
heart  a  black  whirlpool  of  all  the  passions;  but  when 
Rosalie  looked  up  again,  after  a  vigorous  bout  of  fanning, 
she  was  gone,  and,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  the  widow 
Leboeuf  settled  once  more  to  her  placid  morning's 
work. 

The  past  fortnight  had  gone  heavily  for  Mile  de 
Rochambeau.  Since  the  days  of  the  votings  she  had  not 
seen  Dangeau,  for  he  had  only  returned  late  at  night  to 
snatch  a  few  hours'  sleep  before  the  earliest  daylight 
called  him  to  his  work  again.  She  heard  his  step  upon 
the  stair,  and  turned  from  it,  with  something  like  a 
shudder.  What  times!  what  times!  For  the  incon- 
ceivable was  happening — the  impossible  had  come  to 
pass.  What,  was  the  King  to  die,  and  no  one  lift  a 
hand  to  help?  In  open  day,  in  his  own  capital?  Surely 
there  would  be  a  sign,  a  wonder,  and  God  would  save  the 
King.  But  now — God  had  not  saved  him — he  was 
dead.  All  the  previous  day  she  had  knelt,  fasting,  pray- 
ing, and  weeping,  one  of  many  hundreds  who  did  like- 
wise; but  the  knife  had  fallen,  the  blood  royal  was  no 


136       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

longer  inviolate — it  flowed  like  common  water,  and  was 
swallowed  by  the  common  earth.  A  sort  of  numb  terror 
possessed  Aline's  very  soul,  and  the  little  encounter  with 
Therese  gave  it  a  personal  edge. 

As  she  sat,  late  into  the  evening,  making  good  her 
yesterday's  stint  of  embroidery,  there  came  a  footstep 
and  a  knocking  at  her  door,  and  she  rose  to  open  it, 
trembling  a  little,  and  yet  not  knowing  why  she  trem- 
bled since  the  step  was  a  familiar  one. 

Dangeau  stood  without,  his  face  worn  and  tired,  but 
an  eager  light  in  his  eyes. 

"Will  you  spare  me  a  moment?"  he  asked,  motion- 
ing to  his  open  door. 

"Is  it  about  the  copying?"  she  said,  hesitating. 

"The  copying,  and  another  matter,"  he  replied,  and 
stood  aside,  holding  the  door  for  her  to  pass.  She 
folded  her  work  neatly,  laid  it  down,  and  came  silently 
into  his  room,  where  she  remained  standing,  and  close 
to  the  door. 

Dangeau  crossed  to  his  table,  asked  her  a  trifling 
question  or  two  about  the  numbering  of  the  thickly 
written  pages  before  him,  and  then  paused  for  so  long 
a  space  that  the  constraint  which  lay  on  Mademoiselle 
extended  itself  to  him  also,  and  rested  heavily  upon 
them  both. 

"  I  am  going  away  to-morrow, "  he  said  at  last. 

"Yes,  Citizen."  It  was  her  first  word  to  him  for 
many  days,  and  he  was  struck  by  the  altered  quality 
of  the  soft  tones. 

They  seemed  to  set  him  infinitely  far  away  from  her 
and  her  concerns,  and  it  was  surprising  how  much  that 
hurt  him. 

Nevertheless  he  stumbled  on : 

"I  am  obliged  to  go;  you  believe  that,  do  you  not?" 


Separation  137 

"But,  yes,  Citizen."  More  distant  still  the  voice 
that  had  rung  friendly  once,  but  behind  the  distance  a 
weariness  that  spurred  him. 

"You  are  very  friendless,"  he  said  abruptly.  "You 
said  that  I  might  be  your  friend,  and  the  first  thing 
that  I  do  is  to  desert  you.  If  I  had  been  given  a  choice 
■ — but  one  has  obligations — it  is  a  trust  I  cannot 
shirk." 

"  Monsieur  is  very  good  to  trouble  himself  about  me, " 
said  Mademoiselle  softly.  "I  shall  be  safe.  I  am  not 
afraid.  See  then,  Citizen,  who  would  hurt  me?  I  live 
quietly,  I  earn  my  bread,  I  harm  no  one.  What  has 
any  one  so  insignificant  and  poor  as  I  to  be  afraid  of? 
Would  any  one  trouble  to  harm  me?" 

"God  forbid!"  said  Dangeau  earnestly.  "Indeed,  I 
think  you  are  safe,  or  I  would  not  go.  In  a  month  or 
six  weeks,  I  shall  hope  to  be  back  again.  I  do  not 
know  why  I  should  be  uneasy."  He  hesitated.  "If 
there  were  a  woman  you  could  turn  to,  but  there — my 
mother  died  ten  years  ago,  and  I  know  of  no  one  else. 
But  if  a  man's  help  would  be  of  any  use  to  you,  you 
could  rely  on  Edmond  Clery — see,  I  will  give  you  his 
direction.  He  is  young,  but  very  much  my  friend,  and 
you  could  trust  him.  Show  him  this" — he  held  out 
a  small,  folded  note — "and  I  know  he  will  do  what 
he  can." 

Mademoiselle's  colour  was  a  little  tremulous.  His 
manner  had  taken-  suddenly  so  intimate,  so  possessive, 
a  shade.  Only  half-conscious  that  she  had  grown  to 
depend  on  him  for  companionship  and  safety,  she  was 
alarmed  at  discovering  that  his  talk  of  her  being  alone, 
and  friendless,  could  bring  a  lump  into  her  throat,  and 
set  her  heart  beating. 

"Indeed,  Monsieur,  there  is  no  need,"  she    protested, 


138       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

answering  her  own  misgivings  as  much  as  his  words. 
"I  shall  be  safe.     There  is  no  one  to  harm  me. " 

He  put  the  note  into  her  hand,  and  returned  to  the 
table,  where  he  paused,  looking  strangely  at  her. 

"So  young,  so  friendless,"  beat  his  heart,  "so  alone, 
so  unprotected.  If  I  spoke  now,  should  I  lose  all?  Is 
she  old  enough  to  have  learned  their  accursed  lesson  of 
the  gulf  between  man  and  man — between  loving  man 
and  the  woman  beloved?  Surely  she  is  too  lonely  not  to 
yearn  towards  shelter."  He  made  a  half  step  towards 
her,  and  then  checked  himself,  turning  his  head  aside. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  said  earnestly,  "you  are  very 
much  alone  in  the  world.  Your  order  is  doomed — ^it 
passes  unregretted,  for  it  was  an  evil  thing.  I  do  not 
say  that  every  noble  was  bad,  but  every  noble  was 
nourished  in  a  system  that  set  hatred  between  class 
and  class,  and  the  outcome  of  that  antagonism  has  been 
hundreds  of  years'  oppression,  lust,  starvation,  a  peas- 
antry crushed  into  bestiality  by  iniquitous  taxes,  and  an 
aristocracy,  relievedof  responsibility,  grown  callous  to 
suffering,  sunk  in  effeteness  and  vice.  There  is  a  future 
now  for  the  peasant,  since  the  weight  is  off  his  back, 
and  his  children  can  walk  erect,  but  what  future  is 
there  for  the  aristocrat?  I  can  see  none.  Those  who 
would  survive,  must  out  from  their  camp,  and  set  them- 
selves to  other  ways  of  thought,  and  other  modes  of 
life."  He  paused,  and  glanced  at  her  with  a  dawning 
hope  in  his  eyes. 

Mademoiselle  de  Rochambeau  raised  her  head  a  little, 
proudly. 

"Monsieur,  I  am  of  this  order  of  which  you  speak," 
she  said,  and  her  voice  was  cold  and  still. 

"You  were  of  them,  but  now,  where  are  they?  The 
links  that  held  you  to  them  have  been  wrenched  away. 


Separation  139 

All  is  changed  and  you  are  free — the  daughter  of  the 
new  day  of  Liberty." 

"Monsieur,  one  cannot  change  one's  blood,  one's  race. 
I  am  of  them." 

"But  one  can  change  one's  heart,  one's  faith,"  he 
cried  hotly;  and  at  that  Mademoiselle's  hand  went  to 
her  bosom,  as  if  the  pressure  of  it  could  check  the 
quick  fluttering  within. 

"Not  if  one  is  Rochambeau,"  she  said  very  low. 

There  was  an  instant's  pause,  whilst  she  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  then  words  came  to  her. 

"Do  you  know.  Monsieur,  that  for  seven  hundred 
years  my  people  have  kept  their  faith,  and  served  the 
King  and  their  order?  In  all  those  years  there  have 
been  many  men  whom  you  would  call  bad  men — I  do 
not  defend  them — there  have  been  cruel  deeds  done, 
and  I  shudder  at  them,  but  the  worst  man  of  them  all 
would  have  died  in  torments  before  he  would  have 
accepted  life  at  the  price  of  honour,  or  come  out  from 
his  order  because  it  was  doomed.  That  I  think  is  what 
you  ask  me  to  do.     I  am  a  Rochambeau,  Monsieur." 

Her  voice  was  icy  with  pride,  and  behind  its  soft 
curves,  and  the  delicate  colour  excitement  painted  there, 
her  face  was  inexorably  set.  The  individuality  of  it 
became  as  it  were  a  transparent  veil,  through  which 
stared  the  inevitable  attributes  of  the  race,  the  hoarded 
instinct  of  centuries. 

Dangeau's  heart  beat  heavily.  For  a  moment  passion 
flared  hot  within  him,  only  to  fall  again  before  her 
defenceless  youth.  But  the  breath  of  it  beat  upon  her 
soul,  and  troubled  it  to  the  depths.  She  stood  waiting, 
not  knowing  how  to  break  the  spell  that  held  her  motion- 
less. Something  warned  her  that  a  touch,  a  move- 
ment, might  unchain  some  force  unknown,  but  dreadful. 


I40      A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

It  was  as  if  she  watched  a  rising  sea — the  long,  long 
heaving  stretch,  as  yet  unfiecked  with  foam,  where 
wave  after  wave  towered  up  as  if  about  to  break,  yet 
fell  again  unbroken.  The  room  was  gone  in  a  mist — 
there  was  neither  past  nor  future.  Only  an  eternal 
moment,  and  that  steadily  rising  sea. 

Suddenly  broke  the  seventh  wave,  the  wave  of  Fate. 

In  the  mist  Dangeau  made  an  abrupt  movement. 

"Aline!"  he  said,  lifting  his  eyes  to  her  white  face. 
"Aline!" 

Mademoiselle  de  Rochambeau  felt  a  tremor  pass  over 
her;  she  was  conscious  of  a  mastering,  overwhelming 
fear.  Like  something  outside  herself,  it  caught  her  heart, 
and  wrung  it. 

"No,  no,"  said  her  trembling  lips;  "no,  no." 

With  that  he  was  beside  her,  catching  her  unresisting 
hand.     Cold  as  ice  it  lay  in  his,  and  he  felt  it  quiver. 

"Oh,  mon  Dieu,  are  you  afraid  of  me — of  me?"  he 
cried,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not;  something  choked 
the  sound,  and  she  only  stood  there,  mechanically  focus- 
sing all  her  energies  in  an  effort  to  stop  the  shivering, 
which  threatened  to  become  unbearable. 

"Aline,"  he  said  again,  "Aline,  look  at  me." 

He  bent  above  her,  nearer,  till  his  face  was  on  a  level 
with  her  own,  and  his  eyes  drew  hers  to  meet  them. 
And  his  were  full  of  all  sweet  and  poignant  things — 
love  and  home,  and  trust,  and  protection — they  were 
warm  and  kind,  and  she  so  cold,  and  so  afraid.  It 
seemed  as  if  her  soul  must  go  out  to  him,  or  be  torn  in 
two.  Suddenly  her  fear  of  him  had  changed  into  fear  of 
her  own  self.  Did  a  Rochambeau  mate  thus?  She  saw 
the  red  steel,  wet  with  the  King's  life,  the  steel  weighted 
by  the  word  of  this  man,  and  his  fellows.     She  saw  the 


Separation  141 

blood  gush  out  and  flow  between  them  in  a  river  of 
separation.  To  pass  it  she  must  stain  her  feet — must 
stain  her  soul,  with  an  uncleansable  rust.  It  could 
not  be — Noblesse  oblige. 

She  caught  her  hand  from  his  and  put  it  quickly 
over  her  eyes. 

"No,  no,  no — oh  no,  Monsieur,"  she  cried,  in  a 
trembling  whisper. 

He  recoiled  at  once,  the  light  in  his  face  dying  out. 

"It  is  no,  for  always?"  he  asked  slowly. 

She  bent  her  head. 

"For  always,  and  always,  and  always?"  he  said  again. 
"All  the  years,  all  the  ways  wanting  you — never  reaching 
you?     Think  again.  Aline." 

She  rested  her  hand  against  the  door  and  took  a  step 
away.  It  was  more  than  she  could  bear,  and  a  blind 
instinct  of  escape  was  upon  her,  but  he  was  beside  her 
before  she  could  pass  out. 

"Is  it  because  I  am  what  I  am,  Jacques  Dangeau, 
and  not  of  your  order?"  he  asked,  in  a  sharp  voice. 

The  change  helped  her,  and  she  looked  up  steadily. 

"Monsieur,  one  has  obligations — you  said  it  just 
now." 

"Obligations?" 

"And  loyalties — to  one*s  order,  to  one's  King." 

"Louis  Capet  is  dead,"  he  said  heavily. 

"And  you  voted  for  his  death,"  she  flashed  at  him, 
voice  and  eye  like  a  rapier  thrust. 

He  raised  his  head  with  pride. 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,  I  voted  for  his  death." 

"That  is  a  chasm  no  human  power  can  bridge,"  she 
said,  in  a  level  voice.  "It  lies  between  us — the  King's 
death,  the  King's  blood.  You  cannot  pass  to  come  to 
me — I  may  not  pass  to  come  to  you." 


142       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

There  was  an  infinite  troubled  loneliness  behind  the 
pride  in  her  eyes,  and  it  smote  him  through  his  anger. 

"Adieu,  Mademoiselle,"  he  said  in  a  low,  constrained 
voice.  He  neither  touched  her  hand,  nor  kissed  it,  but 
he  bowed  with  as  much  proud  courtesy  as  if  he  had  been 
her  equal  in  pride  of  race.     "Adieu,  Mademoiselle." 

"Adieu,  Monsieur." 

She  passed  out,  and  heard  the  door  close  harshly  be- 
hind her.  It  shut  away — ah,  what?  The  Might-have- 
been — the  Forbidden — Eden  perhaps?  She  could  not 
tell.  Bewildered,  and  exhausted,  she  fell  on  her  knees 
in  the  dark  by  her  narrow  bed,  and  sobbed  out  all  the 
wild  confusion  of  her  heart. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
DISTURBING  INSINUATIONS 

FEBRUARY  came  in  dreary,  and  bleak,  and  went  out 
in  torrents  of  rain.  For  Aline  de  Rochambeau  a 
time  of  dull  loneliness,  and  reaction,  of  hard  grinding 
work,  and  insufficient  food.  She  had  to  rise  early,  and 
stand  in  a  line  with  other  women,  before  she  could 
receive  the  meagre  dole  of  bread,  which  was  all  that 
the  Republic  One  and  Indivisible  would  guarantee  its 
starving  citizens.  Then  home  again,  faint  and  weary, 
to  sit  long  hours,  bent  to  catch  the  last,  ultimate  ray 
of  dreary  light,  working  fingers  sore,  and  tired  eyes  red, 
over  the  fine  embroidery  for  which  she  was  so  thankful 
still  to  find  a  sale. 

All  these  wasted  morning  hours  had  to  be  made  up 
for  in  the  dusk  and  dark  of  the  still  wintry  evenings. 
With  hands  stiff  and  blue,  she  must  thread  the  fine 
needle,  and  hold  the  delicate  fabric,  working  on,  and  on, 
and  on.  She  did  not  sing  at  her  work  now,  and  the 
silence  lay  mournfully  upon  her  heart. 

"  No  tread  on  the  stair,  no  passing  step  across  the  way. 
What  slow,  long  days — what  empty,  halting  evenings." 

Rosalie  eyed  her  with  a  half-contemptuous  pity  in 
those  days,  but  times  were  too  hard  for  the  pity  to 
be  more  than  a  passing  indulgence,  and  she  turned  to 

143 


144       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

her  own  comfortable  meals  without  a  pang.  Times 
were  hard,  and  many  suffered — what  could  one  do? 

"For  me,  I  do  not  see  that  things  are  changed  so 
wonderfully,"  sighed  brown  little  Madeleine  Rousse, 
Rosalie's  neighbour. 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  and  she  were  standing  elbow 
to  elbow,  waiting  for  the  baker  to  open  his  doors,  and 
begin  the  daily  distribution. 

"We  were  hungry  before,  and  we  are  hungry  now. 
Bread  is  as  scarce,  and  the  only  difference  is  that  there 
are  more  mouths  to  feed. " 

Her  small  face  was  pinched  and  drawn,  and  she 
sighed  heavily,  thinking  of  five  clamouring  children  at 
home. 

"Eh,  Madeleine,"  cried  Louison  Michel,  wife  of  that 
redoubtable  Septembrist,  Jean,  the  butcher.  "Eh,  be 
thankful  that  your  last  was  not  twins,  as  mine  was. 
There  was  a  misfortune,  if  you  like,  and  I  with  six 
already!  And  what  does  that  great  stupid  oaf  of  mine 
say  but,  'He,  Louison,  what  a  pity  it  was  not  three!' 
*Pity,'  said  I,  and  if  I  had  been  up  and  about,  I  warrant 
you  I  'd  have  clouted  him  well;  'pity,  indeed,  and  why?* 
Well,  and  what  do  you  think — you  'd  never  guess.  '  Oh, ' 
says  he,  with  a  great  sheep's  grin  on  his  face,  'we  might 
have  called  them  Liberty,  Equality,  and  Fraternity.' 
And  there  he  stood  as  if  he  had  said  something  clever. 
My  word!  If  I  was  angry!  'The  charming  idea,  my 
friend, '  I  said.  '  I  who  have  to  work  for  them,  whilst  you 
make  speeches  at  your  section,  what  of  me?  Take  that, 
and  that, '  said  I,  and  I  threw  what  was  handy  at  him — 
Liberty,  Equality,  and  Fraternity,  indeed!" 

Madeleine  sighed  again,  but  an  impudent-faced  girl 
behind  Aline  whispered  in  her  ear,  "Jean  Michel  has 
one  tyrant  from  whom  the  Republic  cannot  free  him!" 


Disturbing  Insinuations  145 

Louison's  sharp  ears  caught  the  words,  or  a  part  of 
them,  and  she  turned  with  a  swing  that  brought  her 
hand  in  a  resounding  slap  upon  the  girl's  plump  cheek, 
which  promptly  flamed  with  the  marks  of  five  bony 
fingers. 

"Eh — Ma'mselle  Impudence,  so  a  wife  mayn't  keep 
her  own  husband  in  order?  Perhaps  you  'd  like  to 
come  interfering?  Best  put  your  fingers  in  some  one 
else's  pies,  and  leave  mine  alone." 

The  girl  sobbed  angrily,  and  Louison  emitted  a  vicious 
little  snort,  pushing  on  a  pace  as  the  distribution  began, 
and  the  queue  moved  slowly  forward. 

A  month  before  Mile  de  Rochambeau  would  have 
shrunk  and  caught  her  breath,  but  now  she  only  looked, 
and  looked  away. 

At  first  these  hours  in  the  open  street  were  a  torture 
to  the  sensitive,  gently-bred  girl.  Every  eye  that 
lighted  upon  her  seemed  to  be  stripping  off  her  disguise, 
and  she  expected  the  tongue  of  every  passer-by  to 
proclaim  and  denounce  her.  >^ 

After  the  shock  of  the  September  massacres,  it  was  ? 
impossible  for  her  to  realise  that  the  greater  part  of 
those  she  encountered  were  plain,  hungry,  fellow-crea- 
tures, who  cared  little  about  politics,  and  much  about 
their  daily  bread,  but  after  a  while  she  found  she  was  one 
of  a  crowd — a  speck,  a  dust  mote,  and  that  courage 
of  the  crowd,  that  sloughing  of  the  individual,  began  to 
reassure  her.  She  lost  the  sensation  of  being  alone, 
the  centre  of  observing  eyes,  and  took  her  place  as  one 
of  the  great  city's  humble  workers,  waiting  for  her  share 
of  its  fostering;  and  she  began  to  find  interest  in  the 
scenes  of  tragedy  and  comedy  which  those  hours  of 
waiting  brought  before  her.  The  long  standing  was 
fatiguing,    but    without   the    fresh   air    and    enforced 


146       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

companionship  of  these  morning  hours,  she  would  have 
fared  worse  than  she  did.  Brains  of  coarser  fibre  than 
hers  gave  way  in  those  days,  and  the  cells  of  the  Sal- 
p^triere  could  tell  a  sadder  tale  than  even  the  prisons  of 
Paris. 

One  day  of  drenching  rain,  as  she  stood  shivering, 
her  thin  dress  soaked,  her  hair  wet  and  dripping,  a 
heavy-looking,  harpy-eyed  creature  stared  long  and 
curiously  at  her.  The  wind  had  caught  Aline's  hair, 
and  she  put  up  her  slim  hand  smoothing  it  again.  As 
she  did  so,  the  woman's  eyes  took  a  dull  glare  and  she 
muttered: 

"Aristocrat." 

Terror  teaches  the  least  experienced  to  dissemble, 
and  Mademoiselle  had  learned  its  lesson  by  now.  Her 
heart  bounded,  but  she  managed  a  tolerably  natural 
shrug  of  the  shoulders,  and  answered  in  accents  modelled 
on  those  of  Rosalie : 

"My  good  mother,  I?  The  idea!  I— but  that 
amuses  me,"  and  she  laughed;  but  the  woman  gave  a 
sort  of  growl,  shook  her  dripping  head,  and  repeated 
hoarsely' 

"Aristocrat,  aristocrat,"  in  a  sort  of  chant,  whilst 
the  rain,  following  the  furrows  of  the  grimy,  wrinkled 
cheeks,  gave  her  an  expression  at  once  bleared  and 
malignant. 

"It  is  Mere  Rabotin, "  said  the  woman  at  Made- 
moiselle's side.  "She  is  a  little  mad.  They  shot  her 
son  last  tenth  of  August,  and  since  then  she  sees 
aristocrats  and  tyrants  everywhere." 

The  old  woman  threw  her  a  wicked  glance. 

"In  you,  I  see  nothing  but  a  fat  cow,  whose  husband 
beats  her,"  she  remarked  venomously,  and  a  laugh 
ran  down  the  line,  for  the  woman  crimsoned,  and  held 


Disturbing  Insinuations  147 

her  tongue,  being  a  rather  stupid,  garrulous  creature 
destined  to  be  put  out  of  action  at  once  by  a  sharp 
retort. 

"But  this" — pursued  Mere  Rabotin,  fingering  Made- 
moiselle's shrinking  hand — "this  is  an  aristocrat's  hand. 
Fine  and  white,  white  and  fine,  and  why,  because  it  has 
never  worked,  never  worked  as  honest  hands  do,  and 
every  night  it  has  bathed  in  blood — ah,  that  is  a  famous 
whiteness,  mes  amis!" 

Mademoiselle  drew  her  hand  away  with  a  shudder,  but 
recovering  her  self-possession,  she  held  it  up,  still  with 
that  careful  laugh. 

"Why,  M^re  Rabotin,"  she  cried,  "see  how  it  is 
pricked  and  worn.  I  work  it  to  the  bone,  I  can  tell  you, 
and  get  little  enough  even  then. " 

"Aristocrat,  aristocrat,"  repeated  the  hag,  watching 
her  all  the  time.  "Fine  white  hands,  and  a  black  heart 
— blue  blood,  and  a  light  name — no  mercy  or  pity. 
Aristocrat!" 

All  the  way  it  kept  up,  that  half -mad  drone.  The 
women  in  front  and  behind  shrugged  impatient  shoulders, 
staring  a  little,  but  not  caring  greatly. 

Mademoiselle  kept  up  her  pose,  played  the  poor 
seamstress,  and  played  it  well,  with  a  sigh  here,  and 
a  laugh  there,  and  all  the  time  in  her  ears  the  one 
refrain : 

"Aristocrat,  aristocrat!" 

She  came  home  panting,  and  lay  on  her  bed  listening 
for  she  knew  not  what,  for  quite  an  hour,  before  she 
could  force  her  trembling  fingers  to  their  work  again. 
Next  day  she  stayed  indoors,  and  starved,  but  the 
following  morning  hunger  drove  her  out,  and  she  went 
shaking  to  her  pjace  in  the  line  of  waiting  citizens.  The 
woman  was  not  there,  and  she  never  saw  her  again. 


148       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

After  awhile  she  ceased  to  feel  alarmed.  The  feeling  of 
being  watched  and  stared  at,  wore  off,  and  life  settled 
down  into  a  dull  monotony  of  work,  and  waiting. 

It  was  in  these  days  that  Rosalie  made  up  her  quarrel 
with  Therese  Marcel ;  and  upon  the  reconciliation  began 
a  gradual  alteration  in  the  elder  woman's  habits.  There 
were  long  absences  from  the  shop,  after  which  she  would 
return  flushed,  and  queer-eyed,  to  sit  muttering  over  her 
knitting,  and  these  absences  became  more  and  more 
frequent. 

Mile  de  Rochambeau,  returning  with  her  daily  dole  of 
bread,  met  her  one  day  about  to  sally  forth. 

Therese  was  with  her,  and  saluted  Mademoiselle  with 
a  contemptuous  laugh. 

"Are  you  coming  with  us,  Mile  White-face?"  she 
called. 

Aline  shook  her  head  with  a  civil  smile. 

"There  are  two  women  in  to-day's  batch — I  have 
been  telling  Rosalie.  She  did  n't  mean  to  come,  but 
that  fetched  her.  She  has  n't  seen  a  woman  kiss 
Madame  Guillotine  yet,  but  the  men  find  her  very 
attractive,  eh,  Rosalie?" 

Rosalie's  broad  face  took  on  a  dull  flush,  and  her  eyes 
became  suddenly  restless. 

"Eh,  Marie,"  she  said,  in  a  queer,  thick  voice. 
"  Come  along  then — you  sit  and  work  all  day,  and  in  the 
end  you  will  be  ill.  Every  one  must  take  a  holiday  some 
time,  and  it  is  exciting,  this  spectacle;  I  can  tell  you  it  is 
exciting.  The  first  time  I  was  like  you,  I  said  no,  I 
can't,  I  can't;  but  see  you,  I  could  think  of  nothing  else, 
and  at  last,  Therese  persuaded  me.  Then  I  sat,  and 
shivered — yes,  like  a  jelly — and  saw  ten  knives,  and  ten 
heads,  and  half  a  dozen  Citizen  Sansons — but  after  that 
it  went  better,  and  better.     Come,  then,  and  see   for 


Disturbing  Insinuations  149 

yourself,  Marie,"  and  she  put  a  heavy  hand  on  the 
giri's  shrinking  shoulder. 

White-faced,  Aline  recoiled. 

"Oh,  Citoyenne,"  she  breathed,  and  shrank  away. 

Therese  laughed  loud. 

"  Oh,  Citoyenne,  Citoyenne, "  she  mimicked.  "Tender 
flower,  pretty  lamb,  but  the  lamb's  throat  comes  to  the 
butcher's  knife  all  the  same, "  and  her  eyes  were  wicked 
behind  their  mockery. 

"  Have  you  heard  any  news  of  that  fine  lover  of  yours, 
since  he  rode  away,"  she  went  on. 

"I  have  no  lover,"  answered  Mademoiselle,  the  blood 
flaming  into  her  thin  cheeks. 

"You  are  too  modest,  perhaps?"  sneered  Th^r^se. 

"I  have  not  thought  of  such  things." 

"Such  things — just  hear  her!  What?  you  have  not 
thought  of  Citizen  Dangeau,  handsome  Citizen  Dangeau, 
and  he  living  in  the  same  house,  and  closeted  with  you 
evening  after  evening,  as  our  good  Rosalie  tells  me? 
Does  one  do  such  things  without  thinking?" 

Mademoiselle's  flush  had  faded  almost  as  it  had  risen, 
leaving  her  white  and  proud. 

"Citoyenne,  you  are  in  error,"  she  said  quietly.  "I 
am  a  poor  girl  with  my  bread  to  earn.  The  Citizen 
employed  me  to  copy  a  book  he  had  written.  He  paid 
well,  and  I  was  glad  of  the  money." 

"I  dare  say  you  were" — and  Ther^se's  coarse  laugh 
rang  out — "so  he  paid  you  well,  and  for  copying,  for 
copying — that  was  it,  my  pious  Ste.  Nitouche.  Copy- 
ing?    Haha — I  never  heard  it  called  that  before!" 

Mademoiselle  turned  haughtily  away,  only  a  deepening 
of  her  pallor  showed  that  the  insult  had  reached  her,  but 
Rosalie  caught  her  cousin's  arm  with  an  impatient — 
"Tiens,  Therdse,  we  shall  be  late,  we  shall  not  get 


150       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

good  places,"  and  they  went  out,  Th^r^se  still  laughing 
noisily. 

"Vile,  vile,  shameless  woman,"  thought  Aline,  as  she 
stood  drawing  long  breaths  before  her  open  window. 

The  strong  March  wind  blew  in  and  seemed  to  fan  her 
hot  anger  and  shame  into  a  blaze.  "How  dare  she — • 
how  dare  she!" 

Woman-like,  she  laid  the  insult  to  Dangeau's  account. 
It  was  another  stone  added  to  the  wall  which  she  set 
herself  night  and  day  to  build  between  them.  It  rose 
apace,  and  this  was  the  coping-stone.  Now,  surely,  she 
was  safe.  Behind  such  a  wall,  so  strong,  so  high,  how 
could  he  reach  her?  And  yet  she  was  afraid,  for  some- 
thing moved  in  the  citadel,  behind  the  bastion  of  defence 
— something  that  fluttered  at  his  name,  that  ached  in 
loneliness,  and  cried  in  the  night — a  traitor,  but  her  very 
heart,  inalienable  flesh  and  blood  of  her.  She  covered 
her  face,  and  wrestled,  as  many  a  time  before,  and  after 
awhile  she  told  herself — "It  is  conquered,"  and  with  a 
smile  of  self-scorn  sat  down  again  to  her  task  too  long 
delayed. 

Outside,  Paris  went  its  way.  Thousands  were  born, 
and  died,  and  married,  and  betrothed,  in  spite  of  scarce 
bread,  war  on  the  frontiers,  and  prisons  full  to  bursting. 

The  Mountain  and  the  Gironde  were  only  held  from 
one  another's  throats  by  Danton's  strong  hand;  but 
though  their  bickerings  fill  the  historian's  page,  under 
the  surface  agitation  of  politics,  the  vast  majority  of  the 
population  went  its  own  way,  a  way  that  varies  very 
little  under  successive  forms  of  government,  since  the 
real  life  of  a  people  consists  chiefly  of  those  things  about 
which  historians  do  not  write. 

Tragedy  had  come  down  and  stalked  the  streets  of 
Paris,  but  there  were  thousands  of  eyes  which  did  not  see 


Disturbing  Insinuations  151 

her.  Those  who  did,  talked  loudly  of  it,  and  so  it  comes 
that  we  see  the  times  through  their  eyes,  and  not  through 
those  of  the  silent  and  the  blind. 

In  the  south  Dangeau  made  speech  after  speech.  He 
wrote  to  Danton  from  Lyons : 

"This  place  smoulders.  Words  are  apt  to  prove  oil 
on  the  embers.  There  are  900  prisoners,  and  constant 
talk  of  massacre.  Chalier  is  a  firebrand,  the  Mayor  one 
of  those  moderate  persons  who  provoke  immoderate 
irritation  in  others.     We  are  doing  our  best." 

Danton  frowned  heavily  over  the  curt  sentences, 
drawing  those  black  brows  of  his  into  a  wrathful  line. 
He  turned  to  other  letters  from  other  Deputies,  all 
telling  the  same  weary  tale  of  jangle  and  discord,  strife 
and  clamour  of  parties  unappeased  and  unappeasable. 
Soon  he  would  be  at  death-grips  with  the  Gironde — 
force  opposed  to  philosophy,  action  to  eloquence,  and 
philosophic  eloquence  would  go  to  the  guillotine  shout- 
ing the  Marseillaise. 

His  feet  were  set  upon  a  bloody  path,  and  one  from 
which  there  was  no  returning.  All  Fate's  force  was 
in  him  and  behind  him,  and  he  drove  before  it  to  his 
doom. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  DANGEROUS   ACQUAINTANCE 

IT  was  in  April  that  Fate  began  to  concern  herself  with 
Mile  de  Rochambeau  once  more.  It  was  a  day  of 
spring's  first  exquisite  sweetness — air  like  new-born  life 
sparkling  with  wayward  smiles,  as  the  hurrying  sun- 
beams glanced  between  one  white  cloud  and  the  next; 
scent  of  all  budding  blossoms,  and  that  good  smell  of 
young  leafage  and  the  wet,  fecund  earth. 

On  such  a  day,  any  heart,  not  crushed  quite  dumb  and 
dry,  must  needs  sparkle  a  little  too,  tremble  a  little 
with  the  renewal  of  youth,  and  sing  a  little  because 
earth's  myriad  voices  call  for  an  echo. 

Aline  put  on  her  worn  print  gown  with  a  smile,  and 
twisted  her  hair  with  a  little  more  care  than  usual. 
After  all,  she  was  young,  time  passed,  and  life  held  sun- 
shine, and  the  spring.  She  sang  a  little  country  air  as 
she  passed  to  and  fro  in  the  narrow  room. 

Outside  it  was  delicious.  Even  in  the  dull  street 
where  she  took  her  place  in  the  queue  the  air  smelled  of 
young  flowering  things,  and  touched  her  cheeks  with  a 
soft,  kissing  breath,  that  brought  the  tender  colour  into 
them.  Under  the  bright  cerulean  sky  her  eyes  took  the 
shade  of  dark  forget-me-nots. 

It  was  thus  that  Hebert  saw  her  for  the  first  time — • 
one  of  Fate's  tricks — for  had  he  passed  on  a  dull,  rainy, 

152 


A  Dangerous  Acquaintance         153 

day,  he  would  have  seen  nothing  but  a  pale,  weary  girl, 
and  would  have  gone  his  way  unnoticing,  and  unremem- 
bered,  but  to-day  that  spring  bloom  in  the  girl's  heart 
seemed  to  have  overflowed,  and  to  sweeten  all  the  air 
around  her.  The  sparkle  of  the  deep,  sweet,  Irish  eyes 
met  his  cold,  roving  glance,  and  of  a  sudden  changed  it 
to  an  ugly,  intent  glitter.  He  passed  slowly  by,  then 
paused,  turned,  and  passed  again. 

When  he  went  by  for  the  second  time.  Aline  became 
aware  of  his  presence.  Before,  he  had  been  one  of  the 
crowd,  and  she  an  unnoticed  unit  in  it,  but  now,  all  at 
once,  his  glance  seemed  to  isolate  her  from  the  women 
about  her,  and  to  set  her  in  an  insulting  proximity  to 
himself. 

She  looked  down,  coldly,  and  pressed  slowly  forward. 
After  what  seemed  like  a  very  long  time,  she  raised  her 
eyes  for  a  moment,  only  to  encounter  the  same  fixed, 
insolent  stare,  the  same  pale  smile  of  thick,  unlovely 
lips. 

With  an  inward  shudder  she  turned  her  head,  feeling 
thankful  that  the  queue  was  moving  at  a  good  rate,  and 
that  the  time  of  waiting  was  nearly  over.  It  was  not 
until  she  had  secured  her  portion  that  she  ventured  to 
look  round  again,  and,  to  her  infinite  relief,  the  coast  was 
clear.  With  a  sigh  of  thankfulness  she  turned  home- 
wards, plunging  her  thoughts  for  cleansing  into  the  fresh 
loveliness  of  the  day. 

Suddenly  in  her  ear  a  smooth,  hateful  voice: 

"Why  do  you  hurry  so,  Citoyenne?" 

She  did  not  look  up,  but  quickened  her  pace. 

"But,  Citoyenne,  a  word — a  look?" 

Hebert's  smile  broadened,  and  he  slipped  a  dexterous 
arm  about  the  slim  waist,  and  bent  to  catch  the  blue 
glance  of  her  eyes.     Experience  taught  him  that  she 


154       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

would  look  up  at  that.  She  did,  with  a  flame  of  con- 
tempt that  he  thought  very  becoming.  Blue  eyes  were 
apt  to  prove  insipid  when  raised,  but  the  critic  in  him 
acknowledged  these  as  free  from  fault. 

"Citizen!"  she  exclaimed,  freeing  herself  with  an 
unexpectedly  strong  movement.  "How  dare  you!  Oh, 
help  me,  Louison,  help  me!" 

In  the  moment  that  he  caught  her  again  she  had 
seen  the  small,  wiry  figure  of  Jean  Michel's  wife  turn 
the  corner. 

"Louison,  Louison  Michel!"  she  called  desperately. 

Next  moment  Hebert  was  aware  of  some  one,  under- 
sized and  shrivelled  looking,  who  whirled  tempestuously 
upon  him,  with  an  amazing  flow  of  words. 

"Oh,  my  Ste.  Genevieve!  And  is  a  young  girl  not 
to  walk  unmolested  to  her  home.  Bandit!  assassin! 
tyrant !  pig !  devil !  species  of  animal,  go  then — but  on  the 
instant — and  take  that,  and  that,  to  remember  an  honest 
woman  by," — the  first  "that"  being  a  piece  of  his  hair 
torn  forcibly  out,  and  thrown  into  his  perspiring  face, 
and  the  second,  a  most  superlative  slap  on  the  opposite 
cheek. 

He  was  left  gasping  for  breath  and  choking  with  fury, 
whilst  the  whirlwind  departed  with  as  much  suddenness 
as  it  had  come,  covering  the  girl's  retreat  with  shaken 
fist,  and  shrill  vituperation. 

After  a  moment  he  sent  a  volley  of  curses  in  her 
wake.  "Fury!  Magaera!"  he  muttered.  "So  that  is 
Jean  Michel's  wife!  If  she  were  mine,  I  'd  wring  her 
neck." 

He  thought  of  his  meek  wife  at  home,  and  laughed 
unpleasantly. 

"For  the  rest,  she  has  done  the  girl  no  good  by  in- 
terfering."    This  was  unfortunately  the  case.     Hubert's 


A  Dangerous  Acquaintance         155 

eye  had  been  pleased,  his  fancy  taken ;  but  a  few  passing 
words,  a  struggle  may  be,  ending  in  a  kiss,  had  been  all 
that  was  in  his  thought.  Now  the  bully  in  him  lifted 
its  head,  urging  his  jaded  appetite,  and  he  walked  slowly 
after  the  women  until  he  saw  Mademoiselle  leave  her 
companion,  and  enter  Rosalie's  shop.  An  ugly  gleam 
came  into  his  eyes — so  this  was  where  she  lived!  He 
knew  Rosalie  Leboeuf  by  sight  and  name;  knew,  too,  of 
her  cousinship  with  his  former  mistress,  Th^r^se  Marcel, 
and  he  congratulated  himself  venomously  as  he  strolled 
forward  and  read  the  list  of  occupants  which,  as  the  law 
demanded,  was  fixed  on  the  front  of  the  house  at  a 
distance  of  not  more  than  five  feet  from  the  ground : 

"Rosalie  Leboeuf,  widow,  vegetable  seller,  aged  forty- 
six.  Marie  Roche,  single,  seamstress,  aged  nineteen. 
Jacques  Dangeau,  single,  avocat,  aged  twenty-eight," — 
and  after  the  last  name  an  additional  notice — "absent 
on  business  of  the  Convention." 

Hubert  struck  his  coarse  hands  together  with  an  oath. 
Dangeau — Dangeau,  now  it  came  back  to  him.  Dan- 
geau was  infatuated  with  some  girl,  Th^rdse  had  said  so. 
He  laughed  softly,  for  Th^r^se  had  gone  into  one  of  her 
passions,  and  that  always  amused  him.  If  it  were  this 
girl?  If  it  were — if  it  only  were,  why,  what  a  pleas- 
ure to  cut  Dangeau  out,  and  to  let  him  find  on  his 
return  that  the  bird  had  flown  to  a  nest  of  Hebert's 
feathering. 

There  might  be  even  more  in  it  than  that.  The  girl 
was  no  common  seamstress;  pooh — he  was  not  stupid — 
he  could  see  as  far  into  a  brick  wall  as  others.  Even  at 
the  first  glance  he  had  seen  that  she  was  different,  and 
when  her  eyes  blazed,  and  she  drew  herself  from  his 


156       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

grasp,  why,  the  aristocrat  stood  confessed.  Anger  is  the 
greatest  revealer  of  all. 

Madame  la  Roturi^re  may  dress  her  smiling  face  in 
the  mode  of  Mme  1' Aristocrate ;  may  tune  her  company 
voice  to  the  same  rhythm ;  but  put  her  in  a  passion,  and 
see  how  the  mud  comes  boiling  up  from  the  depths,  and 
how  the  voice  so  smooth  and  suave  just  now,  rings  out 
in  its  native  bourgeois  tones. 

Hebert  knew  the  difference  as  well  as  another,  and 
his  thoughts  were  busy.  Aristocrat  disgviised,  spelled 
aristocrat  conspiring,  and  a  conspiring  aristocrat  under 
the  same  roof  as  Jacques  Dangeau,  what  did  that  spell? 

He  rubbed  his  pale  fat  hands,  where  the  reddish  hair 
showed  sickly,  and  strolled  away  thinking  wicked 
thoughts.  Plots  were  the  obsession  of  the  day,  and, 
to  speak  the  truth,  there  were  enough  and  to  spare,  but 
patriot  eyes  were  apt  to  see  double,  and  treble,  when 
drunk  with  enthusiasm,  and  to  detect  a  conspirator 
when  there  was  only  a  victim.  Plots  which  had  never 
existed  gave  hundreds  to  the  knife,  and  the  populace 
shouted  themselves  into  a  wilder  delirium. 

Did  the  price  of  bread  go  up?  Machinations  of  Pitt 
in  England.  Did  two  men  quarrel,  and  blows  pass? 
"Monarchist!"  shouted  the  defeated  one,  and  presently 
denounced  the  other. 

Had  a  woman  an  inconvenient  husband,  why,  a  cry  of 
"Austrian  Spy!"  and  she  might  be  comfortably  rid  of 
him  for  ever. 

Evil  times  for  a  beautiful,  friendless  girl  upon  whom 
gross  Hebert  cast  a  wishful  eye ! 

He  walked  into  the  shop  next  day,  and  accosted 
Rosalie  with  Republican  sternness  of  manner. 

"Good-day,  Citoyenne  Leboeuf. " 

Rosalie  was  fluttered.     Her  nerves  were  no  longer 


A  Dangerous  Acquaintance         157 

quite  so  reliable  as  they  had  been.  Madame  Guillo- 
tine's receptions  were  disturbing  them,  and  in  the  night 
she  would  dream  horribly,  and  wake  panting,  with  her 
hands  at  her  fat  throat. 

"Citizen  Hebert,"  she  murmured. 

He  bent  a  cold  eye  upon  her,  noting  a  beaded 
brow. 

"You  have  a  girl  lodging  here — Marie  Roche?" 

"Assuredly,  Citizen." 

"I  must  speak  to  her  alone." 

Rosalie  rallied  a  little,  for  Hubert  had  a  certain 
reputation,  and  Louison  had  not  held  her  tongue. 

"I  will  call  her  down,"  she  said,  heaving  her  bulky 
form  from  its  place. 

"No,  I  will  go  up,"  said  Hubert,  still  with  magisterial 
dignity. 

"Pardon  me.  Citizen  Deputy,  she  shall  come  down." 

"  It  is  an  affair  of  State.  I  must  speak  privately  with 
her,"  he  blustered. 

Rosalie's  eyes  twinkled;  her  nerves  were  steadying. 
They  had  begun  to  require  constant  stimulation,  and 
this  answered  as  well  as  anything  else. 

"Bah,"  she  said.  "I  shall  not  listen  to  your  State 
secrets.  Am  I  an  eavesdropper,  or  inquisitive?  Ask 
any  one.  That  is  not  my  character.  You  may  take 
her  to  the  farther  end  of  the  shop,  and  speak  as  low  as 
you  please,  but,  she  is  a  young  girl,  this  is  a  respectable 
house,  and  see  her  alone  in  her  room  you  shall  not,  not 
whilst  she  is  under  my  care." 

"That  privilege  being  reserved  for  my  colleague, 
Citizen  Dangeau,"  sneered  Hebert. 

"Tchtt, "  said  Rosalie,  humping  a  billowy  shoulder — 
"the  girl  is  virtuous  and  hard-working,  too  virtuous,  I 
dare  say,  to  please  some  people.     Yes,  that  I  can  very 


158       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

well  believe/*  and  her  gaze  became  unpleasantly 
pointed — "Well,  I  will  call  her  down." 

She  moved  to  the  inner  door  as  she  spoke,  and  called 
up  the  stair:  "Marie!  Marie  Roche!  Descend  then; 
you  are  wanted." 

Hebert  stood  aside  with  an  ill  grace,  but  he  was 
quite  well  aware  that  to  insist  might,  after  yesterday's 
scene,  bring  the  whole  quarter  about  his  ears,  and 
effectually  spoil  the  ingenious  plans  he  was  revolving 
in  his  mind. 

He  moved  impatiently  as  Mademoiselle  delayed,  and, 
at  the  sound  of  her  footstep,  started  eagerly  to  meet 
her. 

She  came  in  quite  unsuspiciously,  looking  at  Rosalie, 
and  at  first  seeing  no  one  else.  When  Hebert's  move- 
ments brought  him  before  her,  she  turned  deadly  white, 
and  a  faintness  swept  over  her.  She  caught  the  door, 
fighting  it  back,  till  it  showed  only  in  that  change  of 
colour,  and  a  rather  fixed  look  in  the  dark  blue  eyes. 

Hebert  checked  a  smile,  and  entrenched  himself 
behind  his  office. 

"You  are  Marie  Roche,  seamstress?" 

"Certainly,  Citizen." 

"Father's   and   mother's   names?'* 

"By  what  right  do  you  question  me?"  the  voice  was 
icy  with  offence,  and  Rosalie  stirred  uneasily. 

"It  is  the  Citizen  Deputy  Hebert;  answer  him,"  she 
growled — and  Hebert  commended  her  with  a  look. 

Really  this  was  amusing — the  girl  had  spirit  as  well 
as  beauty.     Decidedly  she  was  worth  pursuing. 

"Father's  and  mother's  names?"  he  repeated. 

Mademoiselle  bit  her  lip,  and  gave  the  names  she 
had  already  given  when  she  took  out  her  certificate  of 
Citizenship. 


A  Dangerous  Acquaintance         159 

They  were  those  of  her  foster-parents,  and  had  she 
not  had  that  rehearsal,  she  might  have  faltered,  and 
hesitated.  As  it  was,  her  answer  came  clear  and 
prompt. 

Hebert  scowled. 

''You  are  not  telling  the  truth,'*  he  observed  in 
offensive  tones,  expecting  an  outburst,  but  Mile  de 
Rochambeau  merely  looked  past  him  with  an  air  of 
weary  indifference. 

"I  am  not  satisfied,"  he  burst  out.  "If  you  had 
been  frank  and  open,  you  would  have  found  me  a  good 
friend,  but  I  do  not  like  lies,  and  you  are  telling  them. 
Now  I  am  not  a  safe  person  to  tell  lies  to,  not  at  all — 
remember  that.  My  friendship  is  worth  having,  and 
you  may  choose  between  it  and  my  enmity,  my  virtuous 
Citoyenne." 

Mademoiselle  raised  her  delicate  eyebrows  very 
slightly. 

"The  Citizen  does  me  altogether  too  much  honour," 
she  observed,  her  voice  in  direct  contradiction  to  her 
words. 

"Tiens,"  he  said,  losing  self-control,  "you  are  a  proud 
minx,  and  pride  goes  before  a  fall.  Are  you  not  afraid? 
Come,"  dropping  his  voice,  as  he  caught  Rosalie's 
ironical  eye — "Come,  be  a  sensible  girl,  and  you  shall 
not  find  me  hard  to  deal  with.  I  am  a  slave  to  beauty — 
a  smile,  a  pleasant  look  or  two,  and  I  am  your  friend. 
Come  then,  Citoyenne  Marie." 

Mademoiselle  remained  silent.  She  looked  past 
Hebert,  at  the  street.  Rosalie  got  up  exasperated,  and 
pulled  her  aside. 

"Little  fool,"  she  whispered,  "can't  you  make  your- 
self agreeable,  like  any  other  girl.  Smile,  and  keep 
him  off.     No  one  wants  you  to  do  more.     The  man  's 


i6o       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

dangerous,  I  tell  you  so,  I You  '11  ruin  us  all  with 

your  airs  and  graces,  as  if  he  were  the  miid  under  your 
feet." 

Aline  turned  from  her  in  a  sudden  despair. 

"I  am  a  poor,  honest  girl.  Citizen,"  she  said  im- 
ploringly. ''I  have  no  time  for  friendship.  I  have  to 
work  very  hard,  I  harm  nobody." 

"But  a  friend,"  suggested  Hebert,  coming  a  little 
closer,  "a  friend  would  feel  it  a  privilege  to  do  away 
with  that  necessity  for  hard  work." 

Mademoiselle's  pallor  flamed.  She  turned  sharply 
away,  feeling  as  if  she  had  been  struck. 

"Good-day,  Citizen,"  she  said  proudly;  "you  have 
made  a  mistake,"  and  she  passed  from  Rosalie's  detain- 
ing hand. 

Hebert  sent  an  oath  after  her.  He  was  most  un- 
magisterially  angry.  "Fool,"  he  said,  under  his  breath 
-—"Damned  fool." 

Rosalie  caught  him  up. 

"He  is  a  fool  who  wastes  his  time  trying  to  pick  the 
apple  at  the  top  of  the  tree,  when  there  are  plenty  to 
his  hand,"  she  observed  pointedly. 

He  swore  at  her  then,  and  went  out  without  re- 
plying. 

From  that  day  a  period  of  terror  and  humiliation 
beyond  words  set  in  for  Mile  de  Rochambeau.  He- 
bert's  shadow  lay  across  her  path,  and  she  feared  him, 
with  a  sickening,  daily  augmenting  fear,  that  woke  her 
gasping  in  the  night,  and  lay  on  her  like  a  black  night- 
mare by  day. 

Sometimes  she  did  not  see  him  for  days,  sometimes 
every  day  brought  him  along  the  waiting  queue,  until 
he  reached  her  side,  and  stood  there  whispering  hate- 
fully,  amusing  himself  by  alternately  calling  the  in- 


A  Dangerous  Acquaintance         i6i 

dignant  colour  to  her  cheeks,  and  replacing  it  by  a  yet 
more  indignant  pallor. 

The  strain  told  on  her  visibly,  the  thin  cheeks  were 
thinner,  the  dark  eyes  looked  darker,  and  showed  un- 
naturally large  and  bright,  whilst  the  violet  stains 
beneath  them  came  to  stay. 

There  was  no  one  to  whom  she  could  appeal.  Rosalie 
was  furious  with  her  and  her  fine-lady  ways.  Louison, 
and  the  other  neighbours,  who  could  have  interfered  to 
protect  her  from  open  insult,  saw  no  reason  to  meddle 
so  long  as  the  girl's  admirer  confined  himself  to  words, 
and  after  the  first  day  Hebert  had  not  laid  hands  on 
her  again.  « 

The  torture  of  the  man's  companionship,  the  insult 
of  his  look,  were  beyond  their  comprehension. 

Meanwhile,  Hebert's  passing  fancy  for  her  beauty 
had  changed  into  a  dull,  malignant  resolve  to  bend,  or 
break  her,  and  through  her  to  injure  Dangeau,  if  it 
could  possibly  be  contrived. 

Women  had  their  price,  he  reflected.  Hers  might 
not  be  money,  but  it  would  perhaps  be  peace  of  mind, 
relief  from  persecution,  or  even  life — bare  life. 

After  the  first  few  days  he  gave  up  the  idea  of  bring- 
ing any  set  accusation  against  Dangeau.  The  man 
was  away,  his  room  locked,  and  Rosalie  would  certainly 
not  give  up  the  key  unless  a  domiciliary  visit  were 
paid — a  thing  involving  a  little  too  much  publicity 
for  Hebert's  taste.  Besides,  he  knew  very  well  that 
rummage  as  he  might,  he  would  find  no  evidence  of 
conspiracy.  Dangeau  was  an  honest  man,  as  he  was 
very  well  aware,  and  he  hated  him  a  good  deal  the 
more  for  the  inconvenient  fact.  No,  it  would  not  do 
to  denounce  Dangeau  without  some  very  plain  evidence 
to  go  upon.     The  accuser  of   Danton's  friend  might 

IX 


1 62       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

find  himself  in  an  uncommonly  tight  place  if  his  ac- 
cusations could  not  be  proved.  It  would  not  do — it  was 
not  good  enough,  Hebert  decided  regretfully;  but  the 
girl  remained,  and  that  way  amusement  beckoned  as 
well  as  revenge.  If  she  remained  obstinate,  and  if 
Dangeau  were  really  infatuated,  and  returned  to  find 
her  in  prison,  he  might  easily  be  tempted  to  commit 
some  imprudence,  out  of  which  capital  might  be  made. 
That  was  a  safer  game,  and  might  prove  just  as  well 
worth  playing  in  the  end.  Meanwhile,  was  the  girl 
Marie  Roche,  and  nothing  more?  Did  that  arresting 
look  of  nobility  go  for  nothing,  or  was  she  playing  a 
part?  If  Rosalie  knew,  Therese  might  help.  Now  how 
fortunate  that  he  had  always  kept  on  good  terms  with 
Therese. 

He  took  her  a  pair  of  gold  ear-rings  that  evening, 
and  whilst  she  set  them  dangling  in  her  ears,  he  slipped 
an  arm  about  her,  and  kissed  her  smooth  red  cheek. 

"Morbleu!"  he  swore,  "you  're  a  handsome  creature, 
Therese;  there  's  no  one  to  touch  you." 

"What  do  you  want?"  asked  Therese,  with  a  shrewd 
glance  into  his  would-be  amorous  eyes. 

"What,  ma  belle?  What  should  I  want?  A  kiss,  if 
you  '11  give  it  me.     Ah!  the  old  days  were  the  best. " 

Thus  Hebert,  disclaiming  an  ulterior  motive. 

Therese  frowned,  and  twitched  away  from  him. 

"Ma  foi,  Hebert,  am  I  a  fool?"  she  returned,  with  a 
shrug,  "You  've  forgotten  a  lot  about  those  same  old 
days  if  you  think  that.  I  '11  help  you  if  I  can,  but  don't 
try  and  throw  sand  in  my  eyes,  or  you  '11  get  some  of 
it  back,  in  a  way  that  will  annoy  you";  and  her  black 
eyes  flared  at  him  in  the  fashion  he  always  admired. 
He  thought  her  at  her  best  like  that,  and  said  so 
now. 


A  Dangerous  Acquaintance         163 

**Chut!"  she  said  impatiently.  "What  is  it  that 
you  want?" 

Hubert  considered. 

"You  see  your  cousin  sometimes,  the  widow  Lebceuf, 
who  has  the  shop  in  the  rue  des  Lanternes?" 

"I  see  her  often  enough,  twice — three  times  a  week 
at  present." 

"Could  you  get  something  out  of  her? " 

"Not  if  she  knew  I  wanted  to.  Close  as  a  miser's 
fist,  that 's  what  Rosalie  is,  if  she  thinks  she  can  spite 
you;  but  just  now  we  are  very  good  friends — and,  well, 
I  dare  say  it  might  be  done.  Depends  what  it  is  you 
want  to  know." 

Hebert  looked  at  her  keenly. 

"Perhaps  you  can  tell  me,"  he  said,  watching  her 
face.  "That  girl  who  lodges  there,  who  is  she?  What 
is  her  name — her  real  name?  " 

In  a  flash  Therese  was  crimson  to  the  hair,  and  he 
had  her  by  the  wrist,  swinging  her  round  to  face  him. 

"Oho!"  she  cried,  laughing  till  the  new  ear-rings 
tinkled,  "so  that 's  it — that 's  the  game?  Well,  if  you 
can  give  that  stuck-up  aristocrat  the  setting-down  I  've 
promised  her  ever  since  I  first  saw  her,  I  'm  with  you." 

Hebert  pounced  on  one  word,  like  a  cat. 

"Aristocrat?  Ah!  I  thought  so,"  he  said,  his  breath- 
ing quickening  a  little.     "Who  is  she,  then,  ma  mie?" 

Therese  regarded  him  with  a  little  scorn.  She  did 
not  care  who  got  Hebert,  since  she  had  done  with  him 
herself,  but  what,  par  exemple,  did  he  see  in  a  pale 
stick  like  that — and  after  having  admired  her,  Ther^^e? 
Certainly  men  were  past  understanding. 

She  lolled  easily  on  the  arm  of  the  chair. 

"I  've  not  an  idea,  but  I  dare  say  I  could  find  out — 
that  is,  if  Rosalie  knows." 


1 64       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

''Well,  when  you  do,  there  '11  be  a  chain  to  match  the 
ear-rings,"  said  Hebert,  his  arm  round  her  waist  again. 

All  the  same,  April  had  passed  into  May  before 
Ther^se  won  her  chain. 

It  was  in  the  time  between  that  Hubert  haunted 
Mile  de  Rochambeau's  footsteps,  and  employed  what 
he  considered  his  most  seductive  arts,  producing  only 
a  sensation  of  shuddering  defilement  from  which  neither 
prayer  nor  effort  could  free  her  thoughts.  One  day, 
goaded  past  endurance,  she  left  Dangeau's  folded  note 
at  the  door  of  Clery's  lodging.  When  it  had  left  her 
hand,  she  would  have  given  the  world  to  have  it  back. 
How  could  she  speak  to  a  man  of  this  shameful  pursuit 
of  Hubert?  How,  having  put  Dangeau  out  of  her  life, 
could  she  use  his  help,  and  appeal  to  his  friend?  And 
yet,  how  endure  the  daily  shame,  the  nightly  agony  of 
remembering  those  smooth,  poisonous  whispers,  that 
pale,  dreadful  smile ?  She  cried  her  eyes  red  and  swollen, 
and  Edmond  Clery,  looking  up  from  a  bantering  ex- 
change of  compliments  with  Rosalie,  wondered  as  she 
came  in,  first  if  this  could  be  she,  and  then  at  his  friend's 
taste.  He  permitted  himself  a  complacent  memory 
of  Ther^se's  glowing  cheeks  and  supple  curves,  and 
commended  his  own  choice.  Rosalie's  needles  clicked 
amiably.  She  liked  young  men,  and  this  was  a  per- 
sonable one.  What  a  goose  this  girl  was,  to  be  sure! — 
like  a  frightened  rabbit  with  Hebert,  and  now  with  this 
amiable  young  man,  shrinking,  white-faced!  Bah!  she 
had  no  patience  with  her. 

Edmond  bowed  smilingly. 

"My  homage,  Citoyenne,"  he  said. 

Aline  forced  a  "Bonjour,  Citizen,"  and  then  fell 
silent  again.  Ah!  why  had  she  left  the  note— why, 
why,  why? 


A  Dangerous  Acquaintance         165 

Cl^ry  began  to  pity  her  plight,  for  there  was  some- 
thing chivalrous  in  him  which  rose  at  the  sight  of  her 
obvious  unhappiness,  and  he  gave  the  impulse  rein. 

"Will  you  not  tell  me  how  I  can  serve  you?"  he  said 
in  his  gentlest  voice.  "It  will  be  both  a  pleasure  and 
an  honour." 

Aline  raised  her  tired  eyes  to  his,  and  read  kindness 
in  the  open  glance. 

' '  You  are  very  good, "  she  said  slowly,  and  looked  past 
him  with  a  hesitating  air. 

Rosalie  was  busy  serving  at  the  moment,  and  a  shrill 
argument  over  the  price  of  cabbage  was  in  process. 
She  stepped  closer,  and  spoke  very  low. 

"Citizen  Dangeau  said  1  might  trust  you.  Citizen." 

" Indeed  you  may;  I  am  his  friend  and  yours. " 

Even  then  the  colour  rose  a  little  at  this  linking  of 
their  names.     The  impulse  towards  confidence  increased. 

"I  am  in  trouble.  Citizen,  or  I  should  not  have  asked 
your  help.  There  is  a  man  who  follows,  insults  me, 
threatens  even,  and  I  am  without  a  protector. " 

"Not  if  you  will  confide  that  honour  to  me,"  said 
C16ry  quickly. 

She  smiled  faintly. 

"You  are  very  good. " 

"But  who  is  it?  Tell  me  his  name,  and  I  will  see 
that  you  are  not  molested  in  future." 

"It  is  the  Citizen  Deputy  Hebert,"  faltered  Aline,  all 
her  terror  returning  as  she  pronounced  the  hateful 
name. 

Clary's  brows  drew  close,  and  a  long  whistle  escaped 
his  lips. 

"Oho,  Hubert,"  he  said,— Hubert;  but  there,  Citoy- 
enne,  do  not  be  alarmed,  I  beg  of  you.  Leave  it 
to   me";    after   which   he   made   his   adieux   without 


1 66       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

conspicuous  haste,  leaving  Rosalie  much  annoyed  at 
having  missed  most  of  the  conversation. 

Two  days  later,  Hebert  came  foaming  in  on  Th^r^se. 
When  he  could  speak,  he  swore  at  her. 

"See  here,  Therese,  if  you  've  a  hand  in  setting  Cl^ry 
at  me,  let  me  warn  you.  I  '11  take  foul  play  from  no 
woman  alive,  without  giving  as  good  as  I  get,  and  if 
there  's  any  of  your  damned  jealousy  at  work,  you  she- 
devil,  I  '11  choke  you  as  soon  as  look  at  you,  and  with  a 
great  deal  more  pleasure!" 

Therese  stepped  up  to  him  and  fixed  her  great  black 
eyes  on  his  pale,  twitching  ones. 

"Don't  be  so  silly,  Hebert,"  she  said  steadily,  though 
her  colour  rose.  "What  is  it  all  about?  What  has 
young  Clery  done  to  you?  It  *s  rather  late  in  the  day 
for  you  to  start  quarrelling." 

"Did  you  flatter  yourself  it  was  about  you?"  said 
Hebert  brutally.  "Not  much,  my  girl;  I've  fresher 
fish  to  fry.  But  he  came  up  to  me  an  hour  ago,  and 
informed  me  he  had  been  looking  for  me  everywhere  to 
tell  me  my  pursuit  of  that  pattern  of  virtue,  our  good 
Dangeau's  mistress,  must  cease,  or  I  'd  have  him  to 
reckon  with,  and  what  I  want  to  know  is,  have  you  a 
hand  in  this,  or  not?" 

Therese  was  heavily  flushed,  and  her  eyes  curiously 
veiled. 

"What!  Clery  too?"  she  said  in  a  deep  whisper. 
"Dangeau,  and  you,  and  Clery.  Eh!  I  wish  her  joy  of 
my  cast-off  clouts.  But  she  shall  pay — Holy  Virgin, 
she  shall  pay!" 

Hebert  caught  her  by  the  shoulder  and  shook  it. 

"What  are  you  muttering?  I  ask  you  a  plain  ques- 
tion, and  you  don't  answer  it.  What  about  Cl^ry — 
did  you  set  him  on?  " 


A  Dangerous  Acquaintance         167 

She  threw  back  her  head  at  that,  and  gave  a  long, 
wild  laugh. 

"Imbecile!"  she  screamed.  "I?  Do  you  hate  him? 
Well,  think  how  I  must  love  him  when  he  too  goes  after 
this  girl — goes  to  her  from  me,  from  swearing  I  am  his 
goddess,  his  inspiration?  Ah!" — she  caught  at  her 
throat, — "but  at  least  I  can  give  you  his  head.  The  fool 
— the  fool  to  betray  a  woman  who  holds  his  life  in  her 
hands !  Here  is  what  the  imbecile  wrote  me  only  a  week 
ago.  Read,  and  say  if  it  's  not  enough  to  give  him  to 
the  embraces  of  the  Guillotine?" 

The  paper  she  thrust  at  Hebert  came  from  her  bosom, 
and  when  he  had  read  it  his  dull  eyes  glittered. 

"  'The  King's  death  a  crime — perhaps  time  not  ripe 
for  a  Republic. '  Ther^se,  you  're  worth  your  weight 
in  gold.  I  don't  think  Edmond  Clery  will  write  you 
any  more  love-letters." 

Therese  drew  gloomily  away. 

"And  the  girl?"  she  asked,  with  a  shiver. 

"That,  my  dear,  was  to  depend  on  what  you  could 
find  out  about  her,"  Hebert  reminded  her. 

His  own  fury  had  subsided,  and  he  threw  himself  into 
a  chair.     Therese  made  an  abrupt  movement. 

"There  is  nothing  more  to  find  out.     I  have  it  all." 

"You  've  been  long  enough  getting  it,"  said  Hebert, 
sitting  up. 

"Well,  I  have  it  now,  and  I  told  you  all  along  that 
Rosalie  was  more  obstinate  than  a  mule.  She  has  been 
in  one  of  her  silent  moods;  she  would  go  to  all  the 
executions,  and  then,  instead  of  being  a  pleasant  com- 
panion, there  she  would  sit  quite  mum,  or  muttering  to 
herself.  Yesterday,  however,  she  seemed  excited.  There 
was  a  large  batch  told  off,  three  women  amongst  them, 
and  one  of  them  shrieked  when  Sanson  took  her  kerchief 


1 68       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

off.  That  seemed  to  wake  Rosalie  up.  She  got  quite 
red,  and  began  to  talk  as  if  she  had  a  fever." 

"It  is  one  you  have  caught  from  her,  then,"  said 
Hebert  impatiently.  "The  news,  my  girl,  the  news! 
What  do  I  care  for  your  cousin  and  her  tantrums?" 

Therese  looked  dangerous. 

"Am  I  your  cat's-paw,  Hebert?"  she  said.  "Pah! 
do  your  own  dirty  work — you  '11  get  no  more  from  me." 

Hebert  cursed  his  impatience — fool  that  he  was  not 
to  remember  Therese's  temper! 

He  forced  an  ugly  smile. 

"Oh,  well,  as  you  please,"  he  said.  "Let  the  girl  go. 
There  are  other  fish  in  the  sea.  Best  let  Clery  go  too, 
and  then  they  can  make  a  match  of  it,  unless  she  should 
prefer  Dangeau. " 

His  intent  eyes  saw  the  girl's  face  change  at  that. 
"A  thousand  devils!"  she  burst  out.  "Why  do  you 
plague  me,  Hebert?  Be  civil  and  play  fair,  and  you  '11 
get  what  you  want." 

"Come,  come,  Th^r^se,"  he  said  soothingly.  "We 
both  want  the  same  thing — to  teach  a  stuck-up  baggage 
of  an  aristocrat  a  lesson.  Let 's  be  friends  again,  and 
give  me  the  news.     Is  it  any  good? " 

"Good  enough,"  said  Therese,  with  a  sulky  look, — 
"good  enough  to  take  her  out  of  my  way,  if  I  say  the 
word.  Why,  she  's  a  cousin  of  the  ci-devant  Montargis, 
who  got  so  prettily  served  on  the  third  of  September." 

"What?"  exclaimed  Hebert. 

"Ah!  you  never  guessed  that,  and  you  'd  never  have 
got  it  out  of  Rosalie ;  for  she  's  as  close  as  the  devil,  and  I 
believe  has  a  sneaking  fondness  for  the  girl." 

"The  Montargis!"  repeated  Hebert,  rubbing  his 
hands,  slowly.  This  was  better  than  he  expected.  No 
wonder  the  girl  went  in  terror !     He  had  heard  the  Paris 


A  Dangerous  Acquaintance         169 

mob  howl  for  the  blood  of  the  Austrian  spy,  and  he 
knew  that  a  word  now  would  seal  her  fate. 

"Her  name?"  he  demanded. 

"Rochambeau — Aline  de  Rochambeau.  She  only 
clipped  the  tail  off,  you  see,  and  with  a  taste  that  way, 
she  should  have  no  objection  to  a  head  clipping — eh,  my 
friend?"  said  Ther^se,  with  a  short  laugh. 

Hubert  went  off  with  his  plans  made  ready  to  his 
hand.  It  pleased  him  to  be  able  to  ruin  Cl^ry,  since 
Cl^ry  had  crossed  his  path ;  and  besides,  it  would  terrify 
the  girl,  and  annoy  Dangeau,  who  had  a  liking  for  the 
boy.  It  was  inconceivable  that  he  should  have  been  so 
imprudent  as  to  trust  a  woman  like  Ther^se,  but  since 
he  had  been  such  a  fool  he  must  just  pay  for  it  with  his 
head. 

The  truth  was  that  Cl^ry  during  his  service  at  the 
Temple  had  been  strangely  impressed,  like  many  another, 
by  the  bearing  of  the  unfortunate  Royal  Family,  and 
had  conceived  a  young,  whole-hearted  adoration  for  the 
Queen,  which  did  not,  unfortunately  for  himself,  inter- 
fere with  his  wholly  mundane  passion  for  Th^r^se 
Marcel.  In  a  moment  of  extraordinary  imprudence 
he  made  the  latter  his  confidante,  never  doubting  that 
her  love  for  himself  would  make  her  a  perfectly  safe 
one.  Poor  lad!  he  was  to  pay  a  heavy  price  for  his 
trust. 

On  the  day  following  Hubert's  interview  with  Th^r^se 
he  was  arrested,  and  after  a  short  preliminary  examina- 
tion, which  revealed  to  him  her  treachery  and  his 
dangerous  position,  he  was  lodged  in  the  Abbaye. 

His  arrest  made  some  little  stir  in  his  own  small 
world.  Th^r^se  herself  brought  the  news  of  it  to  the 
rue  des  Lanternes.  Her  eyes  were  very  bright  and 
hard  as  she  glanced  round  the  shop,  and  she  laughed 


I70       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

louder  than  usual,  as  she  threw  out  broad  hints  as  to  her 
own  share  in  the  matter,  for  she  liked  Rosalie  to  know 
her  power. 

"  I  think  you  are  a  devil,  Th^r^se, "  said  the  fat  woman 
gloomily. 

"So  others  have  said,"  returned  Th^r^se,  with  a 
wicked  smile. 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  took  the  blow  in  deadly  silence. 
Hope  was  dead  in  her  heart,  and  she  prayed  earnestly 
that  she  alone  might  suffer,  and  not  have  the  wretched- 
ness of  feeling  she  had  drawn  another  into  the  net 
which  was  closing  around  her. 

Hebert  dallied  yet  a  day  or  two,  and  then  struck 
home.  Aline  was  hurrying  homewards,  her  ears 
strained  for  the  step  she  had  grown  to  expect,  when 
all  in  a  minute  he  was  there  by  her  side. 

She  turned  on  him  with  a  sudden  resolve. 

"Citizen,"  she  said  earnestly,  "why  do  you  per- 
secute me?  What  have  I  done  to  you — to  any 
one?  Surely  by  now  you  realise  that  this  pursuit  is 
useless?" 

"The  day  that  I  realise  that  will  be  a  bad  day  for 
you,"  said  Hubert,  with  malignant  emphasis. 

The  threat  brought  her  head  up,  with  one  of  those 
movements  of  mingled  pride  and  grace  which  made  him 
hate  and  covet  her. 

"I  have  done  no  wrong — what  harm  can  you  do  me? " 
she  said  steadily. 

"I  have  interest  with  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal — 
you  may  have  heard  of  the  arrest  of  our  young  friend 
Cl^ry?  Ah!  I  thought  so," — as  her  colour  faded  under 
his  cruel  gaze. 

She  shrank  a  little,  but  forced  her  voice  to  composure. 
"And  does  the  Revolutionary  Tribunal  concern  itself 


A  Dangerous  Acquaintance         171 

with  the  affairs  of  a  poor  girl  who  only  asks  to  be  allowed 
to  earn  her  living  honestly?" 

Hubert  smiled — a  smile  so  wicked  that  she  realised  an 
impending  blow,  and  on  the  instant  it  fell. 

"It  would  concern  itself  with  the  affairs  of  Mile  de 
Rochambeau,  cousin  of  the  ci-devant  Marquise  de 
Montargis,  who,  if  my  memory  serves  me  right,  was 
arrested  on  a  charge  of  treasonable  correspondence  with 
Austria,  and  who  met  a  well- deserved  fate  at  the  hands 
of  an  indignant  people. "  He  leaned  closer  as  he  spoke, 
and  marked  the  instant  stiffening  of  each  muscle  in  the 
white  face. 

For  a  moment  her  heart  had  stopped.  Then  it 
raced  on  again  at  a  deadly  speed.  She  turned  her  head 
away  that  he  might  not  see  the  terror  in  her  eyes, 
and  a  keen  wind  met  her  full,  clearing  the  faint ness 
from  her  brain. 

She  walked  on  as  steadily  as  she  might,  but  the  smooth 
voice  was  still  at  her  ear. 

"You  are  in  danger.  My  friendship  alone  can  save 
you.  What  do  you  hope  for?  The  return  of  your 
lover  Dangeau?  I  don't  think  I  should  count  on  that 
if  I  were  you,  my  angel.  Once  upon  a  time  there  was 
a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Cl^ry — Edmond  Clery  to 
be  quite  correct — yes,  I  see  you  know  the  story.  No, 
I  don't  think  your  Dangeau  will  be  of  any  assistance 
to  you  when  I  denounce  you,  and  denounce  you  I  most 
certainly  shall,  unless  you  ask  me  not  to,  prettily,  with 
your  arms  round  my  neck,  shall  we  say — eh,  Citoyenne 
Marie?" 

As  he  spoke  there  was  a  rumble  of  wheels,  and  a  rough 
cart  came  round  the  corner  towards  them.  He  touched 
her  arm,  and  she  looked  up  mechanically,  to  see  that  it 
held  from  eight  to  ten  persons,  all  pinioned,  and  through 


172       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

her  own  dull  misery  she  was  aware  of  pity  stirring  at  her 
heart,  for  these  were  prisoners  on  their  way  to  the  Place 
de  la  Revolution. 

One  was  an  old  man,  very  white  and  thin,  his  scanty 
hair  straggling  above  a  stained,  uncared-for  coat,  his 
misty  blue  eyes  looking  out  at  the  world  with  the  un- 
seeing stare  of  the  blind  or  dying.  Beside  him  leaned  a 
youth  of  about  fifteen,  whose  laboured  breath  spoke  of 
the  effort  by  which  he  preserved  an  appearance  of  calm. 
Beyond  them  was  a  woman,  very  handsome  and  up- 
right. Her  hair,  just  cut,  floated  in  short,  ragged  wisps 
about  her  pale,  set  face.  Her  lips  moved  constantly,  her 
eyes  looked  down.  Hebert  laughed  and  pointed  as  the 
cart  went  by. 

"That  is  where  you  '11  be  if  I  give  the  word, "  he  whis- 
pered. "Choose,  then — a  place  there,  or  a  place  here," 
— and  he  made  as  if  to  encircle  her  with  his  arm, — 
"choose,  ma  mie. " 

Aline  closed  her  eyes.  All  her  young  life  ran  hotly  in 
her  veins,  but  the  force  of  its  recoil  from  the  man  beside 
her  was  stronger  than  the  force  of  its  recoil  from  death. 

"The  Citizen  insults  me  when  he  assumes  there  is  a 
choice, "  she  said,  with  cold  lips. 

"The  prison  is  so  attractive  then?  The  embraces  of 
the  Guillotine  so  preferable  to  mine — hein?" 

"The  Citizen  has  expressed  my  views." 

Hebert  cursed  and  flung  away,  but  as  she  moved  on 
he  was  by  her  side  again. 

"After  all,"  he  said,  "you  may  change  your  mind 
again.     Until  to-morrow,  I  can  save  you." 

"  Citizen,  I  shall  never  change  my  mind.  There  is  no 
choice;  it  is  simply  that." 

An  inexorable  decision  looked  from  her  face,  and 
carried  conviction  even  to  him. 


A  Dangerous  Acquaintance         173 

"One  cannot  save  imbeciles,"  he  muttered  as  he  left 
her. 

Mademoiselle  walked  home  with  an  odd  sense  of 
relief.  Now  that  the  first  shock  was  over,  and  the  danger 
so  long  anticipated  was  actually  upon  her,  she  was  calm. 
At  least  Hebert  would  be  gone  from  her  life.  Death 
was  clean  and  final;  there  would  be  no  dishonour,  no 
soiling  of  her  ears  by  that  sensual  voice,  nor  of  her  eyes 
by  those  evil  glances. 

She  knelt  and  prayed  for  a  while,  and  sat  down  to  her 
work  with  hands  that  moved  as  skilfully  as  before. 

That  night  she  slept  more  peacefully  than  she  had 
done  for  weeks.  In  her  dreams  she  walked  along  a 
green  and  leafy  lane,  birds  sang,  and  the  sky  burned 
blue  in  the  rising  sun.  She  walked,  and  breathed 
blissful  air,  and  was  happy. 

Out  of  such  dreams  one  awakes  with  a  sense  of  the 
unreality  of  everyday  life.  Some  of  the  glamour  clings 
about  us,  and  we  see  a  mirage  of  happiness  instead  of 
the  sands  of  the  Desert  of  Desolation.  Is  it  only  mirage, 
or  some  sense  sealed,  except  at  rarest  intervals? — a 
sense  before  whose  awakened  exercise  the  veil  wears 
thin,  and  from  behind  we  catch  the  voices  of  the  with- 
drawn, we  feel  the  presence  of  peace,  and  garner  a  little 
of  the  light  of  Eternity  to  shed  a  glow  on  Time. 

Aline  woke  happily  to  a  soft  May  dawn.  Her  dream 
lay  warm  against  her  heart  and  cherished  it. 

In  the  evening  she  was  arrested  and  taken  to  the 
prison  of  the  Abbaye. 


CHAPTER  XV 
SANS  SOUCI 

IN  after  days  Aline  de  Rochambeau  looked  back  upon 
her  time  in  prison  as  a  not  unpeaceful  interlude 
between  two  periods  of  stress  and  terror.  After  loneli- 
ness unspeakable,  broken  only  by  companionship  with 
the  coarse,  the  dull,  the  cruel,  she  found  herself  in  the 
politest  society  of  France,  and  in  daily,  hourly  contact 
with  all  that  was  graceful,  exquisite,  and  refined  in 
her  own  sex, — gallant,  witty,  and  courteous  in  the 
other. 

When  she  joined  the  other  prisoners  on  the  morning 
after  her  arrest,  the  scene  surprised  her  by  its  resemblance 
to  that  ill-fated  reception  which  had  witnessed  at  once 
her  debut  and  her  farewell  to  society.  The  dresses  were 
a  good  deal  shabbier,  the  ladies*  coiffures  not  quite  so 
well  arranged,  but  there  was  the  same  gay,  light  talk, 
the  same  bowing  and  curtsying,  the  same  air  of  high- 
bred indifference  to  all  that  did  not  concern  the  polite 
arts. 

All  at  once  she  became  very  acutely  conscious  of  her 
bourgeoise  dress  and  unpowdered  hair.  She  felt  the 
roughness  of  her  pricked  fingers,  and  experienced  that 
painful  sense  of  inferiority  which  sometimes  afflicts 
young  girls  who  are  unaccustomed  to  the  world.  The 
sensation  passed  in  a  flash,  but  the  memory  of  it  stung 

174 


Sans  Souci  175 

her  not  a  little,  and  she  crossed  the  room  with  her  head 
held  high.  ^ 

The  old  Comtesse  de  Matigny  eyed  her  through  a 
tortoise-shell  lorgnette  which  bore  a  Queen's  cipher  in 
brilliants,  and  had  been  a  gift  from  Marie  Antoinette. 

"Who  is  that?"  she  demanded,  in  her  deep,  imperious 
tones. 

"Some  little  bourgeoise,  accused  of  Heaven  knows 
what,"  shrugged  M.  de  Lancy. 

The  old  lady  allowed  hazel  eyes  which  were  still 
piercing  to  rest  for  a  moment  longer  on  Aline.  Then 
they  flashed  mockingly  on  M.  le  Marquis. 

"My  friend,  you  are  not  as  intelligent  as  usual.  Did 
you  see  the  girl's  colour  change  when  she  came  in? 
When  a  bourgeoise  is  embarrassed,  she  hangs  her  head 
and  walks  awkwardly.  If  she  had  an  apron  on,  she 
would  bite  the  corner.  This  girl  looked  round,  and 
flushed, — it  showed  the  fine  grain  of  her  skin, — then  up 
went  her  head,  and  she  walked  like  a  princess.  Besides, 
I  know  the  face." 

A  sHght,  fair  woman,  with  tired  eyes  which  looked  as 
if  the  colour  had  been  washed  from  them  by  much 
weeping,  leaned  forward.  She  was  Mme  de  Crespigny, 
and  her  husband  had  been  guillotined  a  fortnight  before. 

"I  have  seen  her  too,  Madame,"  she  said  in  an  un- 
interested sort  of  way,  "but  I  cannot  recall  where  it 
was." 

Mme  la  Comtesse  rapped  her  knee  impatiently  with 
a  much-beringed  hand. 

"  It  is  some  one  she  reminds  me  of, "  she  said  at  last — 
"some  one  long  ago,  when  I  was  younger.  I  never 
forget  a  face,  I  always  prided  myself  on  that.  It  was  at 
Court — long  ago — those  were  gay  days,  my  friends. 
Ah!   I  have  it.     La  belle    Irlandaise,   Mile    Desmond, 


176       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

who  married —  Now,  who  did  Mile  Desmond  marry? 
It  is  I  who  am  stupid  to-day.  It  is  the  cold,  I 
think." 

"Was  it  Henri  de  Rochambeau?"  said  De  Lancy. 

She  nodded  vivaciously. 

"It  was — yes,  that  was  it,  and  I  danced  at  their 
wedding,  and  dreamed  on  a  piece  of  the  wedding-cake. 
I  shall  not  say  of  whom  I  dreamed,  but  it  was  not  of 
feu  M.  le  Comte,  for  I  had  never  seen  him  then.  Yes, 
yes,  Henri  de  Rochambeau,  and  la  belle  Irlandaise. 
They  were  a  very  personable  couple,  and  why  they  saw 
fit  to  go  and  exist  in  the  country.  Heaven  alone  knows — 
and  perhaps  his  late  Majesty,  who  did  Mme  de  Ro- 
chambeau the  honour  of  a  very  particular  admiration." 

"And  she  objected,  ch^re  Comtesse?"  De  Lancy's 
tone  was  one  of  pained  incredulity. 

Ch^re  Comtesse  shrugged  her  shoulders  delicately. 

"What  would  you?"  she  observed.  "She  was  as 
beautiful  as  a  picture,  and  as  virtuous  as  if  Our  Lady 
had  sat  for  it.     It  even  fatigued  one  a  little,  her  virtue. " 

Her  own  had  bored  no  one — she  had  not  permitted  it 
any  such  social  solecism. 

"I  remember,"  said  De  Lancy;  "they  went  down  to 
Rochambeau,  and  expired  there  of  dulness  and  each 
other's  unrelieved  society." 

Mme  de  Crespigny  had  been  looking  attentively  at 
Aline.  "Now  I  know  who  the  girl  is,"  she  said.  "It 
is  the  girl  who  disappeared,  who  was  supposed  to  have 
been  massacred.  I  saw  her  at  Laure  de  Montargis' 
reception  the  day  of  the  arrests,  and  I  remember  her 
now.     Ah!  that  poor  Laure " 

She  shuddered  faintly.     De  Lancy  became  interested. 

"But  she  accompanied  her  cousin  to  La  Force  and 
perished  there." 


Sans  Souci  177 

"She  must  have  escaped.  I  am  sure  it  is  she.  She 
had  that  way  of  holding  her  head — like  a  stag — proud 
and  timid." 

"It  was  one  of  her  mother's  attractions,"  said  the 
Comtesse.  "Mile  Desmond  was,  however,  a  great  deal 
more  beautiful.  Her  daughter,  if  this  girl  is  her  daugh- 
ter, has  only  that  trick,  and  the  eyes — yes,  she  has  the 
lovely  eyes,"  as  Aline  turned  her  head  and  looked  in 
their  direction.  "M.  de  Lancy,  do  me  the  favour  of 
conducting  her  here,  and  presenting  her  to  me." 

The  little  old  dandy  clicked  away  on  his  high  heels, 
and  in  a  moment  Mademoiselle  was  aware  of  a  truly 
courtly  bow,  whilst  a  thin,  shaky  voice  said  gallantly: 

"We  rejoice  to  welcome  Mademoiselle  to  our  society. " 

She  curtsied — a  graceful  action — and  Madame  de 
Matigny  watching,  nodded  twice  complacently.  "  Bour- 
geoise  indeed!"  she  murmured,  and  pressed  her  lips 
together. 

"You  are  too  good.  Monsieur,"  said  Mademoiselle. 

Only  four  words,  but  the  voice — the  composure. 

"Madame  la  Comtesse  is  right,  as  always;  she  is 
certainly  one  of  us,"  thought  De  Lancy. 

"  Madame  la  Comtesse  de  Matigny  begs  the  honour  of 
your  acquaintance,"  he  pursued;  "she  had  the  pleasure 
of  knowing  your  parents." 

"Monsieur?" 

"Do  I  not  address  Mile  de  Rochambeau?" 

Surprise,  and  a  sense  of  terror  at  hearing  her  name, 
so  long  concealed,  brought  the  colour  to  her  face. 

"That  is  my  name,"  she  murmured. 

"She  is  always  right — she  is  wonderful,"  repeated  the 
Marquis  to  himself,  as  he  piloted  his  charge  across  the 
room. 

He  made  the  presentation  in  form. 


178       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Madame  la  Comtesse,  permit  that  I  present  to  you 
Mademoiselle  de  Rochambeau. " 

Aline  bent  to  the  white,  wrinkled  hand,  but  was  raised 
and  embraced. 

"You  resemble  your  mother  too  closely  to  be  mistaken 
by  any  one  who  had  the  happiness  of  her  acquaintance," 
said  a  gracious  voice,  and  thereon  ensued  a  whole  series 
of  introductions.  "M.  le  Marquis  de  Lancy,  who  also 
knew  your  parents." 

"Mme  'de  Crespigny,  my  granddaughter  Mile  Mar- 
guerite de  Matigny. " 

A  delightful  sensation  of  having  come  home  to  a  place 
of  safety  and  shelter  came  over  Aline  as  she  smiled  and 
curtsied,  forgetting  her  poor  dress  and  hard- worked 
fingers  in  the  pleasure  of  being  restored  to  the  society 
of  her  equals. 

"Sit  down  here,  beside  me,"  commanded  Mme  de 
Matigny.  She  had  been  a  great  beauty  as  well  as  a 
great  lady  in  her  day,  and  she  spoke  with  an  imperious 
air  that  fitted  either  part.  "Marguerite,  give  Made- 
moiselle your  stool. " 

Aline  protested  civilly,  but  Mile  Marguerite,  a  little 
dark-eyed  creature,  with  a  baby  mouth,  dropped  a  soft 
whisper  in  her  ear  as  she  rose : 

"Grandmamma  is  always  obeyed — but  on  the  in- 
stant," and  Aline  sat  down  submissively. 

"And  now,  racontez  done,  mon  enfant,  racontez," 
said  the  old  lady,  "where  have  you  been  all  these  months, 
and  how  did  you  escape?" 

Embarrassing  questions  these,  but  to  hesitate  was  out 
of  the  question.  That  would  at  once  point  to  necessity 
for  concealment.  She  began,  therefore,  and  told  her 
story  quite  simply,  and  truly,  only  omitting  mention  of 
her  work  with  Dangeau. 


Sans  Souci  179 

Mme  de  Matigny  tapped  her  knee. 

"But,  enfin,  I  do  not  understand.  What  is  all  this? 
Why  did  you  not  appeal  to  your  cousin's  friends,  to 
Mme  de  St.  Aignan,  or  Mme  de  Rabutin,  for  ex- 
ample?" 

"I  knew  only  the  names,  Madame,"  said  Aline, 
lifting  her  truthful  eyes.  "And  at  first  I  thought  all 
had  perished.  I  dared  not  ask,  and  there  was  no  one 
to  tell  me." 

"Poor  child,"  the  hand  stopped  tapping,  and  patted 
her  shoulder  kindly.  "And  this  Rosalie  you  speak  of, 
what  was  she?" 

"Sometimes  she  was  kind.  I  do  not  think  she  meant 
me  any  harm,  and  at  least  she  saved  my  life  once." 

When  she  came  to  the  story  of  her  arrest,  she  faltered 
a  little.     The  old  eyes  were  so  keen. 

"What  do  they  accuse  you  of?  You  have  done 
nothing?" 

"Oh,  ch^re  Comtesse,  is  it  then  necessary  that  one 
should  have  done  anything?"  broke  in  Adele  de  Cr^s- 
pigny,  a  little  bitter  colour  in  that  faded  voice  of  hers. 
"Have  you  done  anything,  or  I,  or  little  Marguerite 
here?" 

Madame  fanned  herself,  her  manner  slightly  distant. 
She  was  not  accustomed  to  be  interrupted. 

"They  say  I  wrote  letters  to  emigres,  to  my  son 
Charles,  in  fact.  Marguerite  also.  It  is  a  crime,  it 
appears,  to  indulge  in  family  feeling.  But,  you,  you, 
Mademoiselle,  did  not  even  do  that." 

"No,"  said  Aline,  blushing.  "It  was  ...  it  was  that 
the  Citizen  Hubert  found  out  my  real  name — I  do  not 
know  how — and  denounced  nie.'' 

Her  downcast  looks  filled  in  enough  of  the  story 
for  those  penetrating  eyes. 


i8o       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Canaille!"  said  the  old  lady  under  her  breath,  and 
then  aloud: 

"You  are  better  here,  with  us.  It  is  more  con- 
venable, "  and  once  more  she  patted  the  shoulder,  and 
that  odd  sense  of  being  at  home  brought  sudden  tears  to 
Aline's  eyes. 

A  few  days  later  a  piece  of  news  reached  her.  She 
and  Marguerite  de  Matigny  sat  embroidering  the  same 
long  strip  of  silk.  They  had  become  close  friends  in  the 
enforced  daily  intimacy  of  prison  life,  and  the  liixury 
of  possessing  a  friend  with  whom  she  could  revive  the 
old,  innocent,  free  talk  of  convent  times  was  delightful 
in  the  extreme  to  the  lonely  girl,  forced  too  soon  into 
a  self-reliance  beyond  her  years. 

Mile  Marguerite  looked  up  from  the  brilliant  half- 
set  stitch,  and  glanced  warily  round. 

"Tiens,  Aline,"  she  said,  putting  her  small  head  on 
one  side,  "I  heard  something  this  morning,  something 
that  concerns  you." 

Aline  grew  paler.  That  all  news  was  bad  news  was 
one  axiom  which  the  events  of  the  last  few  months  had 
graved  deeply  on  her  heart.  Marguerite  saw  the  tremor 
that  passed  over  her,  and  made  haste  to  be  reassuring. 

"No,  no,  ma  belle,  it  is  nothing  bad.  Stupid  that  I 
am!  It  is  that  these  wretches  outside  have  been  fight- 
ing amongst  themselves,  and  your  M.  Hebert  has  been 
sent  to  prison.  I  hope  he  likes  it, "  and  she  took  a  little 
vicious  stitch  which  knotted  her  yellow  thread,  and 
confused  the  symmetrical  centre  of  a  most  gorgeous 
flower.  "There,  I  have  tangled  my  thread  again,  and 
grandmamma  will  scold  me.  I  shall  say  it  was  the  fault 
of  yoiu-  M.  Hubert." 

"Please  don't  call  him  my  M.  Hubert,"  said  Aline 
proudly.     Marguerite  laid  down  her  needle. 


Sans  Souci  i8i 

"Aline,  why  did  he  denounce  you?" 

"Ah,  Marguerite,  don't  talk  of  him.  You  don't  know 
what  a  wretch — "  and  she  broke  off  shuddering. 

"No,  but  I  should  like  to  know.  I  can  see  you  could 
tell  tales — oh,  but  most  exciting  ones!  Why  did  he  do 
it?  He  must  have  had  some  reason;  or  did  he  just  see 
you,  and  hate  you,  like  love  at  first  sight,  only  the  other 
way  round?" 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  assumed  an  air  of  prudence  and 
reproof. 

"Fi  done,  Mile  de  Matigny,  what  would  your  grand- 
mother say  to  such  talk?" 

Marguerite  made  a  little,  wicked  moue. 

"She  would  say — it  was  not  convenable, "  she  mim- 
icked, and  laid  a  coaxing  hand  on  her  friend's  knee. 
"But  tell  me  then.  Aline,  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know — 
tell  me  all  about  it,  all  there  is  to  tell.  I  shall  tease  and 
tease  until  you  do, "  she  declared. 

"Oh,  Marguerite,  it  is  too  dreadful  to  laugh  about." 

"If  one  never  laughed,  because  of  dreadful  things, 
why,  then,  we  should  all  forget  how  to  do  it  nowadays, " 
pouted  Marguerite.  "But,  see  then,  already  I  cry — " 
and  she  lifted  an  infinitesimal  scrap  of  cambric  to  her 
dancing  eyes. 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  laughed,  but  she  shook  her 
head,  and  Marguerite  gave  her  a  little  pinch. 

"Wicked  one,"  she  said;  "but  I  shall  find  out  all  the 
same.  All  my  life  I  have  found  out  what  I  wanted  to, 
yes,  even  secrets  of  grandmamma's,"  and  she  nodded 
mischievously;  but  Aline  turned  back  to  the  original 
subject  of  the  conversation. 

"Are  you  sure  he  is  in  prison?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"Yes,  yes,  quite  sure.  The  Abb^  Loisel  said  so  when 
he  came  this  morning.     I  heard  him  say  to  grand- 


1 82       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

mamma,  'The  wolves  begin  to  tear  each  other.  It  is 
a  just  retribution.'  And  then  he  said,  'Hubert,  who 
edits  that  disgrace  to  the  civilised  world,  the  Pire 
Duchesne,  is  in  prison. '  Oh,  Aline,  would  n't  it  have 
been  fun  if  he  had  been  sent  here?" 

Aline's  hand  went  to  her  heart. 

"Oh,  mon  Dieu!"  she  said  quickly. 

Marguerite  made  round  baby  eyes  of  wonder. 

"You  are  frightened  of  him,"  she  cried.  "He  must 
have  done,  or  said,  something  very  bad  to  make  you 
look  like  that.  If  you  would  tell  me  what  it  was,  I 
should  not  have  to  go  on  worrying  you  about  him,  but 
as  it  is,  I  shall  have  to  make  you  simply  hate  me.  I 
know  I  shall,"  she  concluded  mournfully. 

"Oh,  child,  child,  you  don't  understand,"  cried  Mile 
de  Rochambeau,  feeling  suddenly  that  her  two  years  of 
greater  age  were  twenty  of  bitter  experience.  Her  eyes 
filled  as  she  bent  her  burning  face  over  the  embroidery, 
whilst  two  large  tears  fell  from  them  and  lay  on  the 
petals  of  her  golden  flower  like  points  of  glittering 
dew. 

Marguerite  coloured,  and  looked  first  down  at  the 
floor  and  then  up  at  her  friend's  flushed  face. 

"Oh,  Aline!"  she  breathed,  "was  it  really  that?  Oh, 
the  wretch!  And  when  you  wouldn't  look  at  him  he 
revenged  himself?  Ouf,  it  makes  me  creep.  No 
wonder  you  feel  badly  about  it.  The  villain!"  she 
stamped  a  childish  foot,  and  knotted  her  thread  again. 

"Oh  dear,  it  will  have  to  be  cut,"  she  declared,  "and 
what  grandmamma  will  say,  the  saints  alone  know. " 

Aline  took  the  work  out  of  the  too  vehement  hands, 
and  spent  five  minutes  in  bringing  order  out  of  a  sad 
confusion.  "Now  it  is  better,"  she  said,  handing  it 
back  again;  "you  are  too  impatient,  little  one." 


Sans  Souci  183 

"Ah,  'twas  not  my  fault,  but  that  villain's.  How 
could  I  be  calm  when  I  thought  of  him?  But  you  are 
an  angel  of  patience,  ma  mie.  How  can  you  be  so 
quiet  and  still  when  things  go  wrong?" 

"Ah,"  said  Mademoiselle  with  half  a  sigh,  "for 
eight  months  I  earned  my  living  by  my  work,  you  know, 
and  if  I  had  lost  patience  when  my  thread  knotted  I 
should  have  had  nothing  to  eat  next  day,  so  you  see 
I  was  obliged  to  learn." 

Mme  de  Matigny  came  by  as  she  ended,  and  both 
girls  rose  and  curtsied.  She  glanced  at  the  work, 
nodded  her  head,  and  passed  on,  on  M.  de  Lancy's  arm. 
For  the  moment  chattering  Marguerite  became  decorous 
Mile  de  Matigny — a  jeune  fille,  Men  elevee.  In  her 
grandmother's  presence  only  the  demurest  of  glances 
shot  from  the  soft  brown  eyes,  only  the  most  dutiful 
and  conventional  remarks  dropped  from  the  pretty, 
prudish  lips — but  with  Aline,  what  a  difference!  Now, 
the  stately  passage  over,  she  leaned  close  again  above 
the  neglected  needle. 

"Dis  done.  Aline!  You  were  betrothed,  were  you 
not,  to  that  poor  M.  de  Selincourt?  Were  you  incon- 
solable when  he  was  killed?     Did  you  like  him?  " 

The  ambiguous  "aimer"  fell  from  her  lips  with  a 
teasing  inflection. 

"He  is  dead,"  reproved  Mile  de  Rochambeau. 

"Tiens,  I  did  not  say  he  was  alive!  But  did  you; 
tell  me?     What  did  it  feel  like  to  be  betrothed?  " 

"Ask  Mme  de  Matigny  what  is  the  correct  feeling 
for  a  young  girl  to  have  for  her  betrothed,"  said  Aline, 
a  hint  of  bitterness  behind  her  smile. 

"De  gr^ce!"  and  Marguerite's  plump  hands  went  up 
in  horror.  "See  then.  Aline,  I  think  it  would  be  nice 
to  love — really  to  love — do  you  not  think  so?" 


184       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  shook  her  head  with  decision. 
Something  in  the  light  words  had  stabbed  her,  and  she 
felt  an  inward  pain. 

"I  do  not  see  why  one  should  not  love  one's  hus- 
band," pursued  Marguerite  reflectively.  "If  one  has 
to  live  with  some  one  always,  it  would  be  far  more  agree- 
able to  love  him.  But  it  appears  that  that  is  a  very 
bourgeoise  idea,  and  that  it  is  more  convenable  to  love 
some  one  else." 

"Oh,   Marguerite!" 

"Yes,  yes,  I  tell  you  it  is  so!  Here  one  hears  every- 
thing. They  cannot  send  one  out  of  the  room  when 
the  conversation  begins  to  grow  interesting.  There  is 
Mme  de  Crespigny — she  is  in  our  room — she  weeps 
much  in  the  night,  but  it  is  not  because  of  her  husband, 
oh  no;  it  is  for  M.  le  Chevalier  de  St.  Armand,  who  was 
guillotined  on  the  same  day. " 

"Hush,  Marguerite,  you  should  not  say  such  things." 

"But  if  they  are  true,  and  this  is  really  true,  for 
when  they  brought  her  the  news  she  cried  out  '  Etienne ' 
very  loud,  and  fainted.  M.  de  Crespigny  was  our  cousin, 
so  I  know  all  his  names.  There  is  no  Etienne  amongst 
them,"  and  she  nodded  wisely. 

"Oh,  Marguerite!" 

"So  you  see  it  is  true.  I  find  that  odious,  for  my 
part,  though,  to  be  sure,  what  could  she  do  if  she  loved 
him?  One  cannot  make  oneself  love  or  not  love.  It 
comes  or  it  goes,  and  you  can  only  weep  like  Mme  de 
Crespigny,  unless,  to  be  sure,  one  could  make  shift  to 
laugh,  as  I  think  I  shall  try  to  do  when  my  time  comes." 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  looked  up  with  a  sudden  flame 
in  her  eyes. 

"  It  is  not  true  that  one  cannot  help  loving, "  she  said 
quickly.     "One  can — one  can.     If  it  is  a  wrong  love 


Sans  Souci  185 

it'^can  be  crushed,  and  one  forgets.  Oh,  you  do  not 
know  what  you  are  talking  about,  Marguerite. " 

Marguerite  embraced  her. 

"And  do  you?"  she  whispered  slyly. 

Girls'  talk — strange  talk  for  a  prison,  and  one  where 
Death  stood  by  the  entrance,  beckoning  one  and  another. 

One  day  it  was  M.  de  Lancy  who  was  called  away  in 
the  midst  of  a  compliment  to  his  "Chere  Comtesse," 
called  to  appear  at  Fouquier  Tinville's  bar,  and  later, 
at  that  of  another  and  more  merciful  Judge. 

The  next,  Mme  de  Crespigny's  tired  eyes  rested  for 
the  last  time  upon  prison  walls,  and  she  went  out 
smiling  wistful  good-byes,  to  follow  husband  and  lover 
to  a  world  where  there  is  neither  marrying  nor  giving 
in  marriage. 

As  each  departed,  the  groups  would  close  their  ranks, 
and  after  a  moment's  pause  would  talk  the  faster  and 
more  lightly,  until  once  more  the  summons  came,  and 
again  one  would  be  taken  and  one  left. 

This  was  one  side  of  prison  society.  On  the  other 
a  group  of  devout  persons  kept  up  the  forms  of  convent 
life,  just  as  the  coterie  of  Mme  de  Matigny  did  those 
of  the  salon.  The  Abbe  de  Nerac,  the  Abb^  Constantin, 
and  half  a  dozen  nuns  were  the  nucleus  of  this  second 
group,  but  not  all  were  ecclesiastics  or  religious.  M.  de 
Maurepas,  the  young  soldier,  with  the  ugly  rugged  face 
and  good  brown  eyes,  was  of  their  number,  and  devout 
ladies  not  a  few,  who  spent  their  time  between  encourag- 
ing one  another  in  the  holy  life,  and  hours  of  silent 
prayer  for  those  in  the  peril  of  trial  and  the  agony  of 
death. 

Their  conversations  may  still  be  read,  and  breathe  a 
piety  as  exquisite  as  it  is  natural  and  touching.  To 
both  these  groups  came  daily  the  Abbe  Loisel,  bringing 


i86      A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

to  the  one  news  of  the  outside  world,  and  to  the  other 
the  consolations  of  religion.  Mass  was  said  furtively, 
the  Host  elevated,  the  f;vithful  communicated,  and 
Loisel  would  pass  out  agai-a  to  his  life  of  hourly  peril, 
moving  from  hiding-place  to  hiding-place,  and  from 
plot  to  plot,  risking  his  safety  by  day  to  comfort  the 
prisoners,  or  to  bless  the  condemned  on  their  way  to 
the  scaffold,  and  by  night  to  give  encouragement  to 
some  little  band  of  aristocrats  who  thought  they  could 
fight  the  Revolution. 

Singular  mixture  of  conspirator  and  saint,  his  courage 
was  undoubted.  The  recorded  heroisms  of  the  times 
are  many,  those  unrecorded  more,  and  his  strange 
adventures  have  never  found  an  historian. 

Outside  the  Gironde  rocked,  tottered,  and  fell.  Im- 
prisoned Hebert  was  loose  again.  Danton  struck  for 
the  Mountain,  and  struck  right  home.  First  arrest, 
then  prison,  and  lastly  death  came  upon  the  men  who 
had  dreamed  of  ruling  France.  The  strong  man 
armed  had  kept  the  house,  until  there  came  one  stronger 
than  he. 

So  passed  the  Girondins,  first  of  the  Revolution's 
children  to  fall  beneath  the  Juggernaut  car  they  had 
reared  and  set  in  motion. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

AN  UNWELCOME  VISITOR 

MLLE  DE  ROCHAMBEAU  shared  a  small,  un- 
wholesome cell  with  three  other  women.  One 
of  them,  Mme  de  Coigny,  a  young  widow,  had  lately 
given  birth  to  a  child,  a  poor,  fretful  little  creature 
whose  wailings  added  to  the  general  discomfort. 

Mme  Renard,  the  linen  draper's  wife,  tossed  her  head, 
and  complained  volubly  to  whoever  would  listen,  that 
she  got  no  sleep  at  nights,  since  the  brat  came.  She 
had  been  a  great  man's  mistress,  and  was  under  arrest 
because  he  had  emigrated.  Terrified  to  death,  she  be- 
wailed her  lot  continually,  was  sometimes  fawning, 
sometimes  insolent  to  her  aristocratic  companions,  and 
always  very  disdainful  of  the  fourth  inmate,  a  stout 
Breton  peasant,  with  a  wooden  manner  which  concealed 
an  enormous  respect  for  the  company  in  which  she 
found  herself.  She  told  her  rosary  incessantly,  when 
not  occupied  with  the  baby,  who  was  less  ill  at  ease  in 
her  accustomed  arms  than  with  its  frail,  young  mother. 

One  night  Mademoiselle  awoke  with  a  start.  She 
thought  she  was  being  called,  and  listened  intently.  A 
little  light  came  through  the  grated  window — moon- 
light, but  sallow,  and  impure,  as  if  the  rays  were  infected 
by  the  heaviness  of  the  atmosphere.  It  served,  how- 
ever, to  show  the  heavy  immobility  of  Marie' K6rac's 

187 


1 88       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

form  as  she  lay,  emitting  unmistakable  snores,  the  baby 
caught  in  her  left  arm  and  sleeping  too.  A  dingy  beam 
fell  right  across  Mme  Renard's  face.  It  had  been 
pretty  enough,  in  a  round  dimpled  way,  but  now  it 
looked  heavy  and  leaden,  showing  lines  of  fretful  fear, 
even  in  sleep. 

Out  of  the  darkness  in  the  corner  there  came  a  long- 
drawn  sigh,  and  then  a  very  low  voice  just  breathed  the 
words,  "  Mademoiselle  de  Rochambeau,  are  you  awake?" 
Aline  sat  up. 

"Is  it  you,  Madame  de  Coigny?"  she  asked,  a  little 
startled,  for  both  sigh  and  voice  had  a  vague  unearth- 
liness  that  seemed  to  make  the  night  darker. 
The  Bretonne's  honest  breathing  was  a  reassuring 
sound. 

"Yes!"  said  the  low  voice. 

"Are  you  ill — can  I  do  anything  for  you?" 

There  was  a  rustling  movement  and  a  dim  shape 
emerged  from  the  shadow. 

"If  I  might  lie  down  beside  you  for  a  while.  The 
little  one  went  so  peacefully  to  sleep  with  that  good 
soul,  that  I  had  not  the  heart  to  take  her  back,  and  it 
is  lonely — ^mon  Dieu,  it  is  lonely!" 

Aline  made  room  on  the  straw  pallet,  and  put  an  arm 
round  the  cold,  shrinking  figure. 

"Why,  you  are  chilled,"  she  said  gently,  "and  the 
night  is  quite  warm. " 

"To-morrow  I  shall  be  colder,"  said  Mme  de  Coigny 
in  a  strange  whisper. 

" My  dear,  what  do  you  mean?" 

Something  like  a  shiver  made  the  straw  rustle. 

' '  I  am  not  afraid.  It  is  only  that  I  cannot  get  warm ' ' ; 
then  turning  her  face  to  Aline  she  whispered,  "they 
will  come  for  me  to-morrow." 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor  189 

''No,  no;  why  should  you  think  so?  How  can  you 
know?" 

"Ah,  I  know — I  know  quite  well — and  I  am  glad, 
really.  I  should  have  been  glad  to  die  before  the  little 
one  came,  for  then  she  would  have  been  safe  too.  Now 
she  has  this  business  of  life  before  her,  and,  see  you,  I 
find  life  too  sad,  at  all  events  for  us  women." 

"Life  is  not  always  sad,"  said  Aline  soothingly. 

"Mine  has  been  sad,"  said  Mme  de  Coigny.  "May 
I  talk  to  you  a  little?  We  are  of  the  same  age,  and 
to-night — to-night  I  feel  so  strange,  as  if  I  were  quite 
alone  in  some  great  empty  place." 

"Yes,  talk  to  me,  and  I  will  put  my  arms  round  you. 
There!     Now  you  will  be  warmer." 

Another  shiver  shook  the  bed,  and  then  the  low  voice 
began  again. 

"I  wanted  to  be  a  nun,  you  know.  When  I  was  a 
child  they  called  me  the  little  nun,  and  always  I  said  I 
would  be  one.  Then  when  I  was  eighteen,  my  elder 
sister  died,  and  I  was  an  heiress,  and  they  married  me 
to  M.  de  Coigny." 

"Did  you  not  want  to  marry  him?" 

"Nobody  thought  of  asking  me,  and,  mon  Dieu,  how 
I  cried,  and  wept,  and  tortured  myself.  I  thought  I  was 
a  martyr,  no  less,  and  prayed  that  I  might  die.  It  was 
terrible!  By  the  time  the  wedding-day  came,  M.  de 
Coigny.  must  have  wondered  at  his  bride,  for  my  face 
was  swollen  with  weeping,  and  my  eyes  red  and  sore," 
and  she  gave  a  little  ghost  of  a  laugh. 

"Was  he  kind  to  you?" 

"Yes,  he  was  kind" — there  was  a  queer  inflection  in 
the  low  tone — "and  almost  at  once  he  was  called  away 
for  six  months,  and  I  went  back  to  my  prayers,  and 
tried  to  fancy  myself  a  nun  again.     Then  he  came  back, 


190       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

and  all  at  once,  I  don't  know  how,  something  seemed  to 
break  in  my  heart,  and  I  loved  him.  Mon  Dieu,  how  I 
loved  him!  And  he  loved  me, — that  was  what  was  so 
wonderful." 

"Then  you  were  happy?" 

"For  a  month — one  little  month — only  one  little 
month — "  she  broke  off  on  a  sob,  and  clung  to  Aline 
in  the  dark.  "They  arrested  us,  took  us  to  prison, 
and  when  I  would  have  gone  to  the  scaffold  with  him, 
they  tore  me  away,  yes,  though  I  went  on  my  knees 
and  prayed  to  them.  'The  Republic  does  not  kill  her 
unborn  citizens,*  they  said;  and  they  sent  me  here  to 
wait." 

"You  will  live  for  the  poor  little  baby,"  whispered 
Aline,  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  but  Mme  de  Coigny 
shook  her  head. 

" No, "  she  said  quietly;  "it  is  over  now.  To-morrow 
they  will  take  me  away." 

She  lay  a  little  longer,  but  did  not  talk  much,  and 
after  a  while  she  slipped  away  to  her  own  mattress,  and 
Aline,  listening,  could  hear  that  she  slept. 

In  the  morning  she  made  no  reference  to  what  had 
passed,  but  when  Aline  left  the  cell  to  go  to  Mme  de 
Matigny's  room  she  thought  as  she  passed  out  that  she 
heard  a  whispered  "Adieu,"  though  on  looking  round 
she  saw  that  Mme  de  Coigny' s  face  was  bent  over  the 
child,  whom  she  was  rocking  on  her  knee. 

She  went  on  her  way,  walking  fast,  and  lifting  her 
skirts  carefully,  for  the  passages  of  the  Abbaye  were 
places  of  indescribable  noisomeness.  About  half-way 
down,  the  open  door  of  an  empty  cell  let  a  little  light 
in  upon  the  filth  and  confusion,  and  showed  the  bestial, 
empurpled  face  of  a  drunken  turnkey,  who  lay  all  along 
a  bench,  sleeping  off  the  previous  night's  excesses.     As 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor  191 

Aline  hastened,  she  saw  a  man  come  down  the  corridor, 
holding  feebly  to  the  wall.  Opposite  the  empty  cell  he 
paused,  catching  at  the  jamb  with  shaking  fingers,  and 
lifting  a  face  which  Mademoiselle  de  Rochambeau  recog- 
nised with  a  little  cry  of  shocked  surprise. 

"M.  Cl^ry!"  she  exclaimed. 

Edmond  Clery  could  hardly  stand,  but  he  forced  a 
pitiful  parody  of  his  old,  gay  laugh  and  bow. 

"Myself, "  he  said,  "or  at  least  as  much  of  me  as  the 
ague  has  left." 

Just  inside  the  cell  was  a  rough  stool,  and  Aline  drew 
it  quickly  forward.  He  sank  down  gratefully,  leaning 
against  the  door-post,  and  closing  his  eyes  for  a  moment. 

"Oh,"  said  Mademoiselle,  "how  ill  you  look;  you  are 
not  fit  to  walk  alone." 

He  gave  her  a  whimsical  glance. 

"So  it  appears,"  he  murmured,  "since  De  Maurepas, 
you,  and  my  own  legs  are  all  of  the  same  story.  Well, 
he  will  be  after  me  in  a  few  moments,  that  good 
Maurepas,  and  then  I  shall  get  to  my  room  again." 

"I  think  I  know  M.  de  Maurepas  a  little,"  said 
Aline;  "he  is  very  religious." 

Clery  gave  a  faint  laugh. 

"Yes,  we  are  strange  room-mates,  he  and  I.  He 
prays  all  the  time  and  I  not  at  all,  since  I  never  could 
imagine  that  le  bon  Dieu  could  possibly  be  interested 
in  my  banal  conversation;  but  he  is  a  good  comrade, 
that  Maurepas,  in  spite  of  his  prayers." 

"But,  Monsieur,  how  come  you  to  be  so  ill?  If  you 
knew  how  I  have  reproached  myself,  and  now  to  see 
you  like  this — oh,  you  cannot  tell  how  I  feel." 

Clery  found  the  pity  in  her  eyes  very  agreeable. 

"And  why  reproach  yourself,  Citoyenne;  it  is  not 
your  fault  that  my  cell  is  damp. " 


192       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"No,  no,  but  your  arrest;  to  think  that  I  should  have 
brought  that  upon  you.  Had  I  known,  I  would  have 
done  anything  rather  than  ask  your  help." 

"Ah,  then  you  would  have  deprived  me  of  a  pleasure. 
Indeed,  Citoyenne,  my  arrest  need  not  trouble  you;  it 
was  due,  not  to  your  affairs,  but  my  own." 

"Ah,  M.  Clery,  is  that  true?"  and  her  voice  spoke  her 
relief. 

"I  should  be  able  to  think  better  of  myself  if  it  were 
not,"  said  Clery  a  little  bitterly.  "I  was  a  fool,  and  I 
am  being  punished  for  my  folly.  Dangeau  warned  me 
too.  When  you  see  him  again,  Citoyenne,  you  may  tell 
him  that  he  was  right  about  Therese. " 

"Ther^se — Therese  Marcel?"  asked  Aline,  shrinking 
a  little. 

"Ah — you  know  her!  Well,  I  trusted  her,  and  she 
betrayed  me,  and  here  I  am.  Dangeau  always  said  that 
she  was  dangerous — the  devil's  imitation  of  a  woman, 
he  called  her  once,  and  you  can  tell  him  that  he  was 
quite  right." 

Aline  averted  her  eyes,  and  her  colour  rose  a  shade. 
For  a  moment  her  heart  felt  warm.  Then  she  looked 
back  at  Clery,  and  fell  quickly  upon  her  knees  beside 
him,  for  he  was  gasping  for  breath,  and  falling  sideways 
from  the  stool.  She  managed  to  support  him  for  the 
moment,  but  her  heart  beat  violently,  and  at  the  sound 
of  footsteps  she  called  out.  To  her  relief,  M.  de  Maure- 
pas  came  up  quickly.  If  he  felt  any  surprise  at  find- 
ing her  in  such  a  situation,  he  was  too  well-bred  to 
show  it. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed, "  he  said  hastily.  "  He  has  been 
very  ill,  but  this  is  only  a  swoon;  he  should  not  have 
walked."  Then,  "Mademoiselle,  move  your  arm,  and 
let  me  put  mine  around  him,  so — now  I  can  manage." 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor  193 

He  lifted  C16ry  as  he  spoke,  and  carried  him  the 
length  of  the  corridor. 

"Now,  if  Mademoiselle  will  have  the  goodness  to 
push  the  door  a  little  wider,"  and  he  passed  in  and  laid 
Cl^ry  gently  down. 

Mademoiselle  hesitated  by  the  door  for  a  minute. 

"He  looks  so  ill,  will  he  die?"  she  said. 

"Not  of  this,"  returned  M.  de  Maurepas;  then,  after 
a  moment's  pause,  and  with  a  grave  smile,  "Nor  at  all 
till  it  is  God's  will.  Mademoiselle." 

Mile  de  Rochambeau  spent  the  morning  with  Mar- 
guerite. On  her  return  to  her  own  cell  she  found  an 
empty  place.  Mme  de  Coigny  was  gone,  and  the 
little  infant  wailed  on  the  peasant  woman's  lap. 

Cl^ry  was  better  next  day.  On  the  third  Aline  met 
M.  de  Maurepas  in  the  corridor.  He  was  accompanied 
by  a  rough-looking  turnkey,  and  she  was  about  to  pass 
without  speaking,  but  their  eyes  met,  and  on  the  impulse 
she  stopped  and  asked: 

"How  is  M.  Cl^ry  to-day?" 

The  young  soldier  looked  at  her  steadily. 

"He  has — he  has  moved  on.  Mademoiselle,"  he  re- 
turned, something  of  distress  in  his  tone. 

The  turnkey  burst  into  a  loud,  brutal  laugh. 

"Eh,  that  was  the  citizen  with  the  ague?  At  the  last 
he  shook  and  shook  so  much  that  he  shook  his  head  off 
— yes — right  out  of  the  little  window,  where  his  friend 
is  now  going  to  look  for  it, "  and  he  clapped  De  Maurepas 
on  the  shoulder  with  a  dingy,  jocular  hand. 

Aline  drew  a  sharp  breath. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said  involuntarily,  but  De  Maurepas 
bent  his  head  in  grave  assent. 

"Is  this  so  pleasant  a  camp  that  you  grudge  me  my 
marching  orders?"  he  asked;  and  as  they  passed  he 


194       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

looked  back  a  moment  and  said,  "Adieu,  Made- 
moiselle." 

She  gave  him  back  the  word  very  low,  and  he  smiled 
again,  a  smile  that  irradiated  his  rough  features  and 
steady  brown  eyes.  "Indeed,  I  think  I  go  to  'Him,'  " 
he  said,  and  was  gone. 

Aline  steadied  herself  against  the  wall,  and  closed  her 
eyes  for  a  moment.  She  had  conceived  a  sincere  liking 
for  the  young  soldier;  Clery  had  done  her  a  service,  and 
now  both  were  gone,  and  she  still  left.  And  yet  she 
knew  that  Hebert  was  loose  again.  When  she  had  first 
heard  of  his  release  she  spent  days  of  shuddering  appre- 
hension, but  as  the  time  went  on  she  began  to  entertain 
a  trembling  hope  that  she  was  forgotten,  as  happened  to 
more  than  one  prisoner  in  those  days. 

Hubert  was  loose  again,  but,  for  a  time  at  least,  with 
hands  too  full  of  public  matters,  and  brain  too  occupied 
with  the  struggle  for  existence,  to  concern  himself  with 
matters  of  private  pleasure  or  revenge. 

It  was  the  middle  of  June  before  he  thought  seriously 
of  Mile  de  Rochambeau. 

"Dangeau  is  returning,"  said  Danton  one  morning, 
and  Hebert's  dormant  spite  woke  again  into  fiill  activity. 

At  the  Abbaye,  the  hot  afternoon  waned;  a  drowsy 
stillness  fell  upon  its  inmates.  Mme  de  Matigny  dozed 
a  little.  She  had  grown  older  in  the  past  few  weeks, 
but  her  glance  was  still  piercing,  and  she  woke  at  inter- 
vals with  a  start,  and  let  it  rest  sharply  upon  her  little 
circle,  as  if  forbidding  them  to  be  aware  of  Juno  nodding. 

Marguerite  and  Aline  sat  together:  Aline  half  asleep 
with  her  head  in  her  friend's  lap,  for  Mme  de  Coigny's 
baby  had  died  at  dawn,  and  she  had  been  up  all  night 
tending  it,  and  now  fatigue  had  its  way  with  her. 

Suddenly  a  turnkey  stumbled  in.     He  had  been  drink- 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor  195 

ing,  and  stood  blinking  a  moment  as,  coming  from  the 
dark  corridor,  he  met  the  level  sunlight  full.  Then  he 
called  Mile  de  Rochambeau's  name,  and  as  she  awoke 
with  a  sense  of  startled  amazement  Marguerite  flung 
soft  arms  about  her. 

''Ah,  ma  mie,  ma  belle,""  ma  bien  aimee!"  she  cried, 
sobbing. 

"Chut!'*  said  the  man,  with  a  leer.  "She  'd  rather 
hear  that  from  some  one  else,  I  take  it,  my  little  Citoy- 
enne.  If  I  'm  not  mistaken  there  's  some  one  ready 
enough.  There  's  no  need  to  cry  this  time,  since  it  is 
only  to  see  a  visitor  that  I  want  the  Citoyenne.  There  's 
a  Citizen  Deputy  below  with  an  order  to  see  her,  so  less 
noise,  please,  and  march." 

The  blood  ran  back  to  Aline's  cheek.  Only  two  days 
back  the  Abbe  had  mentioned  Dangeau's  name,  and  had 
said  he  was  returning.  If  it  should  be  he?  The 
thought  flashed,  and  was  checked  even  as  it  flashed,  but 
she  followed  the  man  with  a  step  that  was  buoyant  in 
spite  of  her  fatigue.    Then  in  the  gaoler's  room — Hebert ! 

Just  a  moment's  pause,  and  she  came  forward  with 
a  composure  that  hid  God  knows  what  of  shrinking, 
maidenly  disgust. 

Hebert  was  not  attractive  to  look  at.  His  garments 
were  dusty  and  wine-stained,  his  creased,  yellow  linen 
revealing  a  frowsy  and  unshaven  chin,  where  the  reddish 
hair  showed  unpleasantly  upon  the  fat,  unwholesome 
flesh.     He  laughed,  disclosing  broken  teeth. 

"It  was  not  I  whom  you  expected,  hein  Citoyenne," 
he  said,  with  diabolical  intuition.  "  He  gets  tired  easily, 
you  see,  our  good  Jacques  Dangeau,  and  lips  that  have 
been  kissed  too  often  don't  tempt  him  any  more." 

His  leer  pointed  the  insult,  and  an  intolerable  burning 
invaded  every  limb,  but  she  steadied  herself  against 


196       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

the  wall,  and  leaned  there,  her  head  still  up,  facing 
him. 

" Did  you  think  I  had  forgotten  you  too?**  he  pursued, 
smiling  odiously.  "Ah!  I  see  you  did  me  that  injustice, 
but  you  do  not  know  me,  ma  belle.  Mine  is  such  a 
faithful  heart.  It  never  forgets,  never;  and  it  always 
gets  what  it  wants  in  the  end.  I  have  been  in  prison 
too,  as  you  may  have  heard — yes,  you  did?  And 
grieved  for  me,  pretty  one,  that  I  am  sure  of.  A  few 
rascals  crossed  my  path  and  annoyed  me  for  the  moment. 
Where  are  they  now?  Trembling  under  arrest.  Had 
they  not  detained  me,  I  should  have  flown  to  you  long 
ago;  but  I  trust  that  now  you  acquit  me  of  the  dis- 
courtesy of  keeping  a  lady  waiting.  I  am  really  the 
soul  of  politeness." 

There  was  a  pause.  Mademoiselle  held  to  the  wall, 
and  kept  her  eyes  away  from  his  face. 

"Your  affair  comes  on  to-morrow,"  he  said,  with  a 
brisk  change  of  tone. 

For  the  moment  she  really  felt  a  sense  of  thankful- 
ness. So  she  was  delivered  from  the  unbearable  affront 
of  this  man's  presence  what  did  death  matter? 

Hebert  guessed  her  thoughts. 

"Rather  death  than  me,  hein?"  he  said,  leaning 
closer.  "Is  that  what  you  are  thinking,  Ma'mselle 
White-face?" 

Her  eyes  spoke  for  her. 

"I  can  save  you  yet,'*  he  cried,  angered  by  her 
silence.  "A  word  from  me  and  your  patriotism  is 
above  reproach.  Come,  you  *ve  made  a  good  fight,  and 
I  won't  say  that  has  n't  made  me  like  you  all  the  better. 
I  always  admire  spirit;  but  now  it  *s  time  the  play  was 
over.  Down  with  the  curtain,  and  let 's  kiss  and  make 
friends  behind  it." 


An  Unwelcome  Visitor  197 

Mademoiselle  stood  silent,  a  helpless  thing  at  bay. 

"You  won't,  eh?"  and  his  tone  changed  suddenly. 
"Very  well,  my  pretty  piece  of  innocence;  it 's  Fouquier 
Tinville  to-morrow,  and  then  the  guillotine, — but" — 
his  voice  sank  savagely — "my  turn  first." 

She  quivered  in  a  sick  horror.  "What  did  he  mean; 
what  could  he  do?     Oh,  Mary  Virgin!" 

His  face  came  very  close  with  its  pale,  hideous  smile. 

"Come  to  me  willingly,  and  I  '11  save  your  life  and 
set  you  free  when  I  've  had  enough  of  you.  Remain 
the  obstinate  pig  you  are,  and  you  shall  come  all  the 
same,  but  the  guillotine  shall  have  you  next  day." 

Her  white  lips  moved. 

"You  cannot — "  she  breathed  almost  inaudibly. 
Her  senses  were  clouding  and  reeling,  but  she  clutched 
desperately  at  that  one  thought.  Some  things  were 
impossible.  This  was  one  of  them.  Death — yes,  and 
oh,  quickly,  quickly;  no  more  of  this  torture.  But  this 
new,  monstrous  threat — no,  no,  dear  God!  no,  such  a 
thing  could  not,  could  not  happen! 

The  room  was  all  mist,  swirling,  rolling  mist  out  of 
which  looked  Hubert's  eyes.  Through  it  sounded  his 
voice,  his  laugh. 

"Cannot,  cannot — fine  words,  my  pretty,  fine  words. 
When  one  has  friends,  good  friends,  one  can  do  a  good 
deal  more  than  you  think,  and  instead  of  finding  yourself 
in  the  Conciergerie  between  sentence  and  execution,  I 
can  arrange  quite  nicely  that  you  should  be  in  these 
loving  arms  of  mine.  Aha,  my  dear!  What  do  you 
say  now?     Will  you  hear  reason,  or  no?" 

The  mist  covered  everything  now,  and  the  wall  she 
leaned  against  seemed  to  rock  and  give.  She  spread 
out  her  hands,  and  with  a  gasp  fell  waveringly,  first  to  her 
knees,  and  then  sideways  upon  the  stones  in  a  dead  faint. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
DISTRESSING  NEWS 

DANGEAU  entered  Paris  next  morning.  His  mis- 
sion had  dragged  itself  out  to  an  interminable 
length.  Even  now  he  returned  alone,  his  colleague, 
Bonnet,  having  been  ordered  to  remain  at  Lyons  for 
the  present,  whilst  Dangeau  made  report  at  headquarters. 
The  cities  of  the  South  smouldered  ominously,  and  were 
ready  at  a  breath  to  break  into  roaring  fiame.  Even 
as  Dangeau  rode  the  first  tongues  of  fire  ran  up,  and 
a  general  conflagration  threatened.  Of  this  he  rode  to 
give  earnest  warning,  and  his  face  was  troubled  and 
anxious,  though  the  outdoor  life  had  given  it  a  brown 
vigour  which  had  been  lacking  before. 

He  put  up  his  horse  at  an  inn  and  walked  to  his  old 
quarters  with  a  warm  glow  rising  in  his  breast;  a  glow 
before  which  all  misgivings  and  preoccupations  grew 
faint. 

He  had  not  been  able  to  forget  the  pale,  proud  aristo- 
crat, who  had  claimed  his  love  so  much  against  his 
will  and  hers ;  but  in  his  days  of  absence  he  had  set  her 
image  as  far  apart  as  might  be,  involving  himself  in 
the  press  of  public  business,  to  the  exclusion  of  his 
thoughts  of  her.  But  now — now  that  he  was  about 
to  see  her  again,  the  curtain  at  the  back  of  his  mind 
lifted,  and  showed  her  standing — an  image  in  a  shrine 

198 


Distressing  News  199 

— unapproachably  radiant,  unforgettably  enchanting, 
unalterably  dear,  and  all  the  love  in  him  fell  on  its 
knees  and  adored  with  hidden  face. 

He  passed  up  the  Rue  des  Lanternes  and  beheld  its 
familiar  features  transfigured.  Here  she  had  walked 
all  the  months  of  his  absence,  and  here  perhaps  she  had 
thought  of  him;  there  in  the  little  room  had  mingled 
his  name  with  her  sweet  prayers.  He  remembered 
hotly  the  night  he  had  asked  her  if  she  prayed  for  him, 
and  her  low,  exquisitely  tremulous,  "Yes,  Citizen." 

He  drew  a  long,  deep  breath  and  entered  the  small 
shop. 

It  was  dark  coming  in  from  the  glare,  but  he  made 
out  Rosalie  in  her  accustomed  seat,  only  it  seemed  to 
him  that  she  was  huddled  forward  in  an  unusual  manner. 

"Why,  Citoyenne!"  he  cried  cheerfully,  "I  am  back, 
you  see." 

Rosalie  raised  her  head  and  stared  at  him,  and  she 
seemed  to  be  coming  back  with  difficulty  from  a  great 
distance.  As  his  eyes  grew  used  to  the  change  from 
the  outer  day  he  looked  curiously  at  her  face.  There 
was  something  strange,  it  seemed  to  him,  about  the 
sunken  eyes;  they  had  lost  the  old  shrewd  look,  and 
were  dull  and  wavering.  For  a  moment  it  occurred  to 
him  that  she  had  been  drinking;  then  the  heavy  glance 
changed,  brightening  into  recognition. 

"You,  Citizen?"  she  said,  with  a  sort  of  dull  surprise. 

"Myself,  and  very  glad  to  be  back." 

"You  are  well.  Citizen?" 

"And  you,  I  fear,  suffering?" 

Rosalie  pulled  herself  together. 

"No,  no,"  she  protested,  "I  am  well  too,  quite  well. 
It  is  only  that  the  days  are  dull  when  there  is  no  spec- 
tacle, and  I  sit  there  and  think,  and  count  the  heads, 


200       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

and  wonder  if  it  hurt  them  much;  and  then  it  makes 
my  own  head  ache,  and  I  become  stupid." 

Dangeau  shuddered  lightly.  A  gruesome  welcome 
this. 

"  I  would  not  go  and  see  such  things, "  he  said. 

"Sometimes  I  wish — "  began  Rosalie,  and  then 
paused;  a  red  patch  came  on  either  sallow  cheek.  "It 
is  too  ennuyant  when  there  is  nothing  to  excite  one, 
voyez-vous?  Yesterday  there  were  five,  and  one  of 
them  struggled.  Ah,  that  gave  me  a  palpitation !  They 
say  it  was  n't  an  aristocrat.  They  all  die  alike,  with  a 
little  stretched  smile  and  steady  eyes — no  crying  out — 
I  find  that  tiresome  at  the  last." 

"Why,  Rosalie,"  said  Dangeau,  "you  should  stay 
at  home  as  you  used  to.  Since  when  have  you  become 
a  gadabout?  You  will  finish  by  having  bad  dreams 
and  losing  your  appetite." 

Rosalie  looked  up  with  a  sort  of  horrid  animation. 

"Ah,  j'y  suis  dej^,"  she  said  quickly.  "Already  I 
see  them  in  the  night.  A  week  ago  I  wake,  cold,  wet 
— and  there  stands  the  Citizen  Cl^ry  with  his  head, 
under  his  arm  like  any  St.  Denis.  Could  I  eat  next 
day? — Ma  foi,  no!  And  why  should  he  come  to  me, 
that  Cl^ry?  Was  it  I  who  had  a  hand  in  his  death? 
These  revenants  have  not  common-sense.  It  is  my 
cousin  Th^rdse  whose  nights  should  be  disturbed,  not 
mine." 

Dangeau  looked  at  her  steadily. 

"Come,  come,  Rosalie,"  he  said,  "enough  of  this — 
Edmond  Clery's  head  is  safe  enough." 

"Yes,  yes,"  nodded  Rosalie,  "safe  enough  in  the 
great  trench.  Safe  enough  till  Judgment  day,  and  then 
it  is  Th^rdse  who  must  answer,  and  not  I.  It  was  none 
of  my  doing." 


Distressing  News  201 

''But,  Rosalie — mon  Dieu!  what  are  you  saying — 
Edmond ?" 

"Why,  did  you  not  know?" 

"Woman!— what?" 

"Ask  Th^r^se,"  said  Rosalie  with  a  sullen  look,  and 
fell  to  plaiting  the  border  of  her  coarse  apron. 

"Rosalie!" 

His  voice  startled  her,  and  her  mood  shifted. 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  he  was  a  friend  of  yours,  and  it  is 
bad  news.  Ah,  he  's  dead,  there  's  no  doubt  of  that. 
I  saw  it  with  my  own  eyes.  He  had  been  ill,  and 
could  hardly  mount  the  steps;  but  in  the  end  he 
smiled  and  waved  his  hand,  and  went  off  as  bravely 
as  the  best  of  them.  It  is  a  pity,  but  he  offended 
Th^r^se,  and  she  is  a  devil.  I  told  her  so;  I  said  to 
her,  'Th^r^se,  I  think  you  are  a  devil,'  and  she  only 
laughed." 

Dangeau  could  see  that  laugh, — red,  red  lips,  and 
white,  even  teeth,  and  all  the  while  lips  that  had  kissed 
hers  livid,  dabbled  with  blood.  Oh,  horrible!  Poor 
Cl^ry,  poor  Edmond! 

He  gave  a  great  shudder  and  forced  his  thoughts 
away  from  the  vision  they  had  evoked,  but  he  sought 
voice  twice  before  he  could  say : 

"All  else  are  well?" 

She  looked  sullen  again,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"Ma  foi.  Citizen,  Paris  does  not  stand  still." 

He  bit  his  lip. 

"But  here,  in  this  house?" 

"  I  am  well,  I  have  said  so  before. " 

He  turned  as  if  to  go. 

"And  the  Citoyenne  Roche?"  He  had  his  voice  in 
hand  now,  and  the  question  had  a  careless  ring. 

"Gone,"  said  Rosalie  curtly. 


202       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

In  a  flash  that  veil  of  carelessness  had  dropped.  His 
hand  fell  heavily  upon  her  shoulder. 

"Gone — where?"  he  asked  tensely. 

"Where  every  one  goes  these  days,  these  fine  days. 
To  prison,  to  the  guillotine.     They  all  go  there." 

For  a  moment  Dangeau's  heart  stood  still,  then 
laboured  so  that  his  voice  was  beyond  control.  It  came 
in  husky  gasps.  "Dead — she  is  dead.  Oh,  mon  Dieu, 
mon  Dieu!" 

Rosalie  was  rocking  to  and  fro,  counting  on  her 
fingers.  His  emotion  seemed  to  please  her,  for  she 
gave  a  foolish  smile. 

"She  has  a  little  white  neck,  very  smooth  and  soft," 
she  muttered. 

A  terrible  sound  broke  from  Dangeau's  ghastly  lips; 
a  sound  that  steadied  for  a  moment  the  woman's 
tottering  mind.  She  looked  up  curiously,  as  if  recalling 
something,  smoothed  the  hair  from  her  forehead,  and 
touched  the  rigid  hand  which  lay  upon  her  shoulder. 

"Tiens,  Citizen,"  she  said  in  a  different  tone,  "she  is 
not  dead  yet";  and  the  immense  relief  gave  Dangeau's 
anger  rein. 

"Woman!"  he  said  violently,  "what  has  happened? 
Where  is  she?     At  once " 

Rosalie  twitched  away  her  shoulder,  shrinking  back 
against  the  wall.  This  blaze  of  anger  kept  her  sane  for 
the  moment. 

"She  is  in  prison,  at  the  Abbaye, "  she  said.  Under 
the  excitement  her  brain  cleared,  and  she  was  thinking 
now,  debating  how  much  she  should  tell  him. 

"Since  when?" 

"A  month — six  weeks — what  do  I  know?" 

"How  came  she  to  be  arrested?" 

"  How  shovild  I  know,  Citizen?  '* 


Distressing  News  203 

^*Did  you  betray  her?  You  knew  who  she  was. 
Take  care  and  do  not  lie  to  me." 

"I  lie,  I — Citizen!  But  I  was  her  best  friend,  and 
when  that  beast  Hubert  came  hanging  round *' 

"Hebert?" 

"She  took  his  fancy.  Heaven  knows  why,  and  you 
know  her  proud  ways.  Any  other  girl  would  have 
played  with  him  a  little,  given  a  smile  or  two,  and  kept 
him  off;  but  she,  with  her  nose  in  the  air,  and  her  eyes 
looking  past  him,  as  if  he  was  n't  fit  for  her  to  see, — why, 
she  made  him  feel  as  if  he  were  the  mud  under  her  feet, 
and  what  could  any  one  expect?  He  got  her  clapped 
into  the  Abbaye,  to  repent  at  leisure." 

Dangeau  was  a  man  of  clean  lips,  but  now  he  called 
down  damnation  upon  Hubert's  black  soul  with  an 
earnestness  that  frightened  Rosalie. 

"What  more  do  you  know?     Tell  me  at  once!" 

She  turned  uneasily  from  the  look  in  his  eyes. 

"  She  will  be  tried  to-day. " 

"You  are  sure?" 

"Therese  told  me,  and  she  and  Hubert  are  thick  as 
thieves  again." 

"What  hour?  Dieu!  what  hour?  It  is  ten  o'clock 
now." 

"Before  noon,  I  think  she  said,  but  I  can't  be  sure 
of  that." 

"You  are  lying?" 

"No,  no.  Citizen — I  do  not  know — ^indeed  I  do 
not." 

He  saw  that  she  was  speaking  the  truth,  and  turned 
from  her  with  a  despairing  gesture.  As  he  stumbled 
out  of  the  shop  he  knocked  over  a  great  basket  of 
potatoes,  and  Rosalie,  with  a  sort  of  groan  of  relief,  went 
down  on  her  knees  and  began  to  gather  them  up.     As 


204      A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

the  excitement  of  the  scene  she  had  been  through  sub- 
sided her  eyes  took  that  dull  glaze  again.  Her  move- 
ments became  slower,  and  she  stared  oddly  at  the  brown 
potatoes  as  she  handled  them. 

"One — two — three,"  she  counted  in  a  monotonous 
voice,  dropping  them  into  the  basket.  At  each  little 
thud  she  started  slightly,  then  went  on  counting. 

"Four — five — six — seven — eight — "  Suddenly  she 
stared  at  them  heavily.  "There's  no  blood,"  she 
muttered,  "no  blood." 

Half  an  hour  later  Th^r^se  found  her  with  a  phleg- 
matic smile  upon  her  face  and  idle  hands  folded  over 
something  that  lay  beneath  her  coarse  apron. 

"Come  along  then,  Rosalie,"  she  called  out  im- 
patiently. "Have  you  forgotten  the  trial? — we've 
not  too  much  time. " 

"Ah!"  said  Rosalie,  nodding  slowly;  "ah,  the  trial." 

Th^r^se  tapped  impatiently  with  her  foot. 

"Come  then,  for  Heaven's  sake!  or  we  shall  not  get 
places. " 

"Places,"  said  Rosalie  suddenly;  "what  for?" 

"Ma  foi,  if  you  are  not  stupid  to-day.  The  trial,  I 
tell  you,  that  Rochambeau  girl's  trial — white-faced  little 
fool.  Ciel!  if  I  could  not  play  my  cards  better  than 
that, "  and  she  laughed. 

Rosalie's  hands  were  hidden  by  her  apron.  One  of 
them  clutched  something.  The  fingers  lifted  one  by  one, 
and  in  her  mind  she  counted,  "One — two — three — four 
— five" — and  then  back  again — "One — two — three — 
four — five — "     Th^r^se  was  staring  at  her. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  to-day?"  she  said. 
"Are  you  coming  or  no?  It  will  be  amusing,  Hubert 
says;  but  if  you  prefer  to  sit  here  and  sulk,  do  so  by  all 
means.    For  me,  I  go. " 


Distressing  News  205 

She  turned  to  do  so,  but  Rosalie  was  already  getting 
out  of  her  chair. 

"Wait  then,  Th^r^se,"  she  grumbled.  "Is  no  one 
to  have  any  amusement  but  you?  There,  give  me  your 
arm,  come  close.     Now  tell  me  what 's  going  to  happen?'* 

"Oh,  just  the  trial,  but  I  thought  you  wanted  to  see 
it.  For  me,  I  always  think  it  makes  the  execution  more 
interesting  if  one  has  seen  the  trial  also. " 

"Dangeau  is  back,"  said  Rosalie  irrelevantly. 

Therese  laughed  loud. 

"He  has  a  fine  welcome  home,"  she  said.  "Well, 
are  you  coming,  for  I  Ve  no  mind  to  wait?" 

"It  is  only  the  trial,"  said  Rosalie  vaguely.  "Just  a 
trial — and  what  is  that?  I  do  not  care  for  a  trial, 
there  is  no  blood." 

She  laughed  a  little  and  rocked,  cuddling  what  lay 
beneath  her  apron. 

"Just  a  trial,"  she  muttered;  "but  whose  trial  did 
you  say?" 

Th^r^se  lost  patience.     She  stamped  on  the  floor. 

"What,  again?  What  the  devil  is  the  matter  with 
you  to-day?     Are  you  drunk?  " 

Rosalie  turned  her  big  head  and  looked  at  her  cousin. 
They  were  standing  close  together,  and  her  left  hand, 
with  its  strong,  stumpy  fingers,  closed  like  a  vice  upon 
the  girl's  arm. 

"No,  I  'm  not  drunk,  not  drunk,  Th^r^se,"  she  said 
in  a  thick  voice. 

Th^r^se  tried  to  shake  her  off. 

"Well,  you  sound  like  it,  and  behave  like  it,  you  old 
fool,"  she  said  furiously.  "Drunk  or  crazy,  it's  all 
one.     Let  go  of  me,  I  shall  be  late. " 

"Yes,"  said  Rosalie,  nodding  her  head — "yes,  you 
will  be  late,  Th^r^se. " 


2o6       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Va,  imbecile!"  cried  the  girl  in  a  passion. 

As  she  spoke  she  hit  the  nodding  face  sharply, 
twitching  violently  to  one  side  in  the  effort  to  free  her 
arm. 

The  ponderous  hand  closed  tighter,  and  Ther^se, 
turning  again  with  a  curse,  saw  that  upon  Rosalie's 
heavily  flushed  face  that  stopped  the  words  half-way, 
and  changed  them  to  a  shriek. 

"Oh,  Mary  Virgin!"  she  screamed,  and  saw  the 
hidden  right  hand  come  swinging  into  sight,  holding  a 
long,  sharp  knife  such  as  butchers  use  at  their  work. 
Her  eyes  were  all  black,  dilated  pupil,  and  she  choked 
on  the  breath  she  tried  to  draw  in  order  to  scream  again. 
Oh,  the  hand !  the  knife ! 

It  flashed  and  fell,  wrenched  free  and  fell  again,  and 
Therese  went  down,  horribly  mute,  her  hands  grasping 
in  the  air,  and  catching  at  the  basket  across  which  she 
fell. 

She  would  scream  no  more  now.  The  knife  clattered 
to  the  floor  from  Rosalie's  suddenly  opened  hand,  and, 
as  if  the  sound  were  a  signal,  Therese  gave  one  convulsive 
shudder,  which  passed  with  a  gush  of  crimson. 

Rosalie  went  down  on  her  knees,  and  gathered  a  hand- 
ful of  the  brown  tubers  from  the  piled  basket.  She  had 
to  push  the  corpse  aside  to  get  at  them,  and  she  did  it 
without  a  glance. 

Then  she  threw  the  potatoes  back  into  the  basket 
one  by  one.  She  wore  a  complacent  smile.  Her  eyes 
were  intent. 

"Now,  there  is  blood,"  she  said,  nodding  as  if  satis- 
fied.    "Now,  there  is  blood." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  TRIAL  AND  A  WEDDING 

OF  the  hours  that  passed  after  that  death-like  swoon 
of  hers  Mile  de  Rochambeau  never  spoke. 
Never  again  could  she  open  the  door  behind  which 
lurked  madness,  and  an  agony  such  as  women  have  had 
to  bear,  time  and  again,  but  of  which  no  woman  whom 
it  has  threatened  can  speak.  Hubert  had  given  his 
orders,  and  she  was  thrust  into  an  empty  cell,  where  she 
lay  cowering,  with  hidden  face,  and  lips  that  trembled 
too  much  to  pray. 

.  Hebert's  threat  lay  in  her  mind  like  a  poison  in  the 
body.  Soon  it  would  kill — but  not  in  time,  not  soon 
enough.  She  could  not  think,  or  reason,  and  hope  was 
dead.  Something  else  had  come  in  its  place,  a  thing 
unformulated  and  dreadful,  not  to  be  thought  of ,  un- 
believable, and  yet  unbearably,  irrevocably  present. 

Oh,  the  long,  shuddering  hours,  and  yet,  by  a  twist 
of  the  tortured  brain,  how  short — how  brief — for  now 
she  saw  them  as  barriers  between  her  and  hell,  and  each 
as  it  fell  away  left  her  a  thing  more  utterly  unhelped. 

When  they  brought  her  out  in  the  morning,  and  she 
stepped  from  the  dark  prison  into  the  warm,  sunny  day- 
light, she  raised  her  head  and  looked  about  her  a  little 
wonderingly. 

Still   a   sun   in   the   sky!     Still   summer   shine   and 

807 


2o8       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

breath,  and  beautiful  calm  space  of  blue  ethereal  light 
above.  A  sort  of  stunned  bewilderment  fell  upon  her, 
and  she  sat  very  still  and  quiet  all  the  way. 

Inside  the  hall  citizens  crowded  and  jostled  one 
another  for  a  place;  plump,  respectable  mothers  of 
families,  cheek  by  jowl  with  draggled  wrecks  of  the 
slums,  moneyed  shopkeepers,  tattered  loafers,  a  wild- 
eyed  Jacobin  or  two,  and  everywhere  women,  women, 
women.  Women  with  their  children,  lifting  a  round- 
eyed  starer  high  to  see  the  white-faced  aristocrat  go 
past;  women  with  their  work,  whose  chattering  tongues 
kept  pace  with  the  clattering  needles ;  women  fiercer  and 
more  cruel  than  men,  to  whom  death  and  blood  and  an- 
guish were  become  a  stimulant  more  fatally  potent  than 
any  alcohol. 

There  were  men  there  too,  gaping,  yawning,  telling 
horrible  tales,  men  whose  hands  had  dripped  innocent 
blood  in  September.  There  was  a  reek  of  garlic,  the 
air  was  abominably  hot  and  close,  and  wherever  citizens 
could  get  an  elbow  free  one  saw  a  mopping  of  greasy 
faces  going  forward. 

As  Mademoiselle  de  Rochambeau  was  brought  in,  a 
sort  of  growling  murmur  went  round.  The  crowd  was 
in  a  dangerous  mood:  on  the  verge  of  ennui,  it  wanted 
something  fresh — a  sauce  piquante  to  its  daily  dish — 
and  here  was  only  another  cursed  aristocrat  with  nothing 
very  remarkable  about  her. 

She  looked  round,  not  curiously,  but  in  some  vague, 
helpless  fashion,  which  might  have  struck  pity  from 
hearts  less  inured  to  suffering.  On  the  raised  stage  to 
which  they  had  brought  her  there  were  a  couple  of 
rough  tables.  At  the  nearest  of  the  two  sat  a  number 
of  men,  very  dirty  and  evil-eyed — Fouquier  Tinville's 
carefully  packed  jury;  and  at  the  farther  one,  Herman, 


A  Trial  and  a  Wedding  209 

the  great  tow-haired  Judge  President,  with  his  heavy  air 
of  being  half  asleep;  and  Tinville  himself,  the  Public 
Prosecutor,  low-browed,  with  retreating  chin — Renard 
the  Fox,  as  a  contemporary  squib  has  it,  the  perpetrator 
of  which  lost  his  head  for  his  pains.  Behind  him  lounged 
Hebert,  hands  in  pockets,  light  eyes  roving  here  and 
there.  She  saw  him  and  turned  her  head  away  with  the 
wince  of  a  trapped  animal,  looking  through  a  haze  of 
misery  to  the  sea  of  faces  below. 

There  is  a  peculiar  effluence  from  any  large  body  of 
people.  Their  encouragement,  or  their  hostility,  ra- 
diates from  them,  and  has  an  overwhelming  influence 
upon  the  mind.  When  the  crowd  cheers  how  quickly 
enthusiasm  spreads,  until,  like  a  rising  tide,  it  covers 
its  myriad  human  grains  of  sand!  And  a  multitude  in 
anger? — No  one  who  has  heard  it  can  forget! 

Imagine,  then,  one  bruised,  tormented  human  speck, 
girl  in  years,  gently  nurtured,  set  high  in  face  of  a 
packed  assemblage,  every  upturned  face  in  which  looked 
at  her  with  appraising  lust,  bloodthirsty  cruelty,  or 
inhuman  curiosity.  A  wild  panic  unknown  before  swept 
in  upon  her  soul.  She  had  not  thought  it  could  feel 
again,  but  between  Hebert's  glance,  which  struck  her 
like  a  shameful  blow,  and  all  these  eyes  staring  with 
hatred,  her  reason  rocked,  and  she  felt  a  scream  rise 
shuddering  from  the  very  centre  of  her  being. 

Those  watching  saw  both  slender  hands  catch  suddenly 
at  the  white  throat,  whilst  for  a  minute  the  darkened 
eyes  stared  wildly  round;  then,  with  a  supreme  effort,  she 
drew  herself  up,  and  stood  quietly,  and  if  the  blood  beat 
a  mad  tune  on  heart  and  brain,  there  was  no  outward 
sign,  except  a  pallor  more  complete,  and  a  tightening 
of  the  clasped,  fallen  hands  that  left  the  knuckles 
white. 

14 


2IO       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

It  was  thus,  after  months  of  absence,  that  Dangeau 
saw  her  again,  and  the  rage  and  love  and  pity  in  his 
heart  boiled  up  until  it  challenged  his  utmost  self- 
control  to  keep  his  hands  from  Hebert's  throat 

Hubert  smiled,  but  uneasily.  This  was  what  he  had 
planned — wished  for — and  yet —  Face  to  face  with 
Dangeau  again,  he  felt  the  old  desire  to  slink  past,  and 
get  out  of  the  range  of  the  white,  hot  anger  in  the  eyes 
that  for  a  moment  seemed  to  scorch  his  face. 

Dangeau  had  come  in  quietly  enough,  and  stood  first 
at  the  edge  of  the  crowd,  by  the  steps  which  led  to  the 
raised  platform  on  which  accused  and  judges  were  placed. 
He  had  shot  his  bolt,  had  made  a  vain  effort  to  see 
Danton,  and  was  now  come  here  to  do  he  knew  not  what. 

Mademoiselle  looking  straight  before  her,  with  eyes 
that  now  saw  nothing,  was  not  aware  of  his  presence,  as 
in  a  strained,  far-away  voice  she  answered  the  questions 
Fouquier  Tinville  put  to  her. 

"Your  name?" 

"Aline  Marie  de  Rochambeau. '* 

"You  are  a  cousin  of  the  late  ci-devant  and  con- 
spirator Montargis?" 

"Yes." 

A  sort  of  howl  went  up  from  the  back  of  the  room, 
where  a  knot  of  filthy  men  stood  gesticulating. 

"And  you  were  betrothed  to  that  other  traitor  S^lin- 
court?" 

"Yes." 

The  answers  dropped  almost  indifferently  from  the 
scarcely  parted  lips,  but  she  shrank  and  swayed  a  little, 
as  a  second  shout  followed  her  reply,  and  she  caught 
curses,  cries  for  her  death,  and  a  woman's  scream  of, 
"Down  with  Selincourt's  mistress!  Give  her  to  us! 
Throw  her  down!" 


A  Trial  and  a  Wedding  211 

Tinville  waved  for  silence  and  gradually  the  noise 
lessened,  the  audience  settling  down  with  the  reflection 
that  perhaps  it  would  be  a  pity  to  cut  the  play  short  in 
its  first  act. 

"You  have  conspired  against  the  Republic?" 

"No." 

"But  I  say  yes,"  said  Tinville  loudly.  "Citizen 
Hebert  discovered  you  under  an  assumed  name.  Why 
did  you  take  a  name  that  was  not  your  own  if  you  had 
no  intention  of  plotting?  Are  honest  citizens  ashamed 
of  their  names?" 

Dangeau  swung  himself  on  to  the  platform  and  came 
forward. 

"Citizen  President,"  he  said  quietly.  "I  claim  to  re- 
present the  accused,  who  has,  I  see,  no  counsel." 

Herman  looked  up  stupidly,  a  vague  smile  on  his 
broad,  blond  face. 

"We  have  done  away  with  counsel  for  the  defence," 
he  observed,  with  a  large,  explanatory  wave  of  the  hand. 
"It  took  too  much  time.  The  Revolutionary  Tribunal 
now  has  increased  powers,  and  requires  only  to  hear  and 
to  be  convinced  of  the  prisoners'  crimes.  We  have 
simplified  the  forms  since  you  went  south.  Citizen." 

Fouquier  Tinville  glanced  at  him  with  venomous 
intention.  "And  the  Citizen  delays  us,"  he  said 
politely. 

Aline  had  let  one  only  sign  of  feeling  escape  her, — a 
soft,  quick  gasp  as  Dangeau  came  within  the  contracting 
circle  of  her  consciousness, — but  the  sound  reached  him 
and  came  sweetly  to  his  ears. 

He  turned  again  to  Herman. 

"But  you  still  hear  witnesses,  or  whence  the  con- 
viction?" he  said  in  a  carefully  controlled  voice. 

"  It  is  Dangeau,  our  Dangeau ! ' '  shouted  a  woman  near 


212       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

the  front.  "Let  him  speak  if  he  wants  to:  what  does 
he  know  of  the  girl? " 

He  recognised  little  Louison,  hanging  to  her  big 
husband's  arm,  and  sent  her  a  smiling  nod  of  thanks. 

"Witnesses,  by  all  means,"  shrugged  Tinville,  to 
whom  Hubert  had  been  whispering.  "Only  be  quick, 
Citizen,  and  remember  it  is  a  serious  thing  to  try  to 
justify  a  conspirator."  He  turned  and  whispered  back, 
"He  '11  talk  his  head  off  if  we  give  him  the  chance — 
devil  speed  him!"  then  leaned  across  the  table  and 
inquired: 

"What  do  you  know  of  the  accused?" 

"I  know  her  motive  for  changing  her  name." 

"Oh,  you  know  her  motive — eh?" 

Dangeau  raised  his  voice. 

"A  patriotic  one.  She  came  to  Paris,  she  witnessed 
the  corruption  and  vice  of  aristocrats,  and  she  determined 
to  come  out  from  among  them  and  throw  in  her  lot 
with  the  people." 

Mademoiselle  turned  slowly  and  faced  him.  Now  if 
she  spoke,  if  she  demurred,  if  she  even  looked  a  contra- 
diction of  his  words,  they  were  both  lost — both. 

His  eyes  implored,  commanded  her,  but  her  lips  were 
already  opening,  and  he  could  see  denial  shaping  there, 
denial  which  would  be  a  warrant  of  death,  when  of  a 
sudden  she  met  Hebert's  dull,  anxious  gaze,  and,  shud- 
dering, closed  her  lips,  and  looked  down  again  at  the 
uneven,  dusty  floor.  Dangeau  let  out  his  breath  with 
a  gasp  of  relief,  and  spoke  once  more. 

"She  called  herself  Marie  Roche  because  her  former 
name  was  hateful  to  her.  She  worked  hard,  and  went 
hungry.  I  call  on  Louison  Michel  to  corroborate  my 
words." 

Hubert  raised  a  careless  hand,  and  instantly  there  was 


A  Trial  and  a  Wedding  213 

a  clamour  of  voices  from  the  back.  He  congratulated 
himself  in  having  had  the  forethought  to  install  a  claque, 
as  they  listened  to  the  cries  of,  "  Death  to  the  aristocrat! 
Down  with  the  conspirator!     Death!     Death!" 

Dangeau  turned  from  the  bar  to  the  people. 

"Citizens,"  he  cried,  "I  turn  to  you  for  justice. 
What  did  they  say  in  the  bad  old  days? — 'The  King's 
voice  is  God's  voice,'  and  I  say  it  still. "  The  clamour 
rose  again,  but  his  voice  dominated  it. 

"I  say  it  still,  for,  though  the  King  is  dead,  a  new 
king  lives  whose  reign  will  never  end, — the  Sovereign 
People, — and  at  their  bar  I  know  there  will  be  equal 
justice  shown,  and  no  consideration  of  persons.  Why 
did  Capet  fall?  Why  did  I  vote  for  his  death?  Because 
of  oppression  and  injustice.  Because  there  was  no 
protection  for  the  weak — no  hearing  for  the  poor.  But 
shall  not  the  People  do  justice?  Citizens,  I  appeal  to 
you — I  am  confident  in  your  integrity." 

A  confused  uproar  followed,  some  shouting,  "Hear 
him ! "  and  others  still  at  their  old  parrot-cry  of,  "  Death ! 
Death!" 

Above  it  all  rang  Louison's  shrill  cry : 

"A  speech,  a  speech!  Let  Dangeau  speak!"  and  by 
degrees  it  was  taken  up  by  others. 

"The  girl  is  innocent.  Will  you,  just  Citizens, 
punish  her  for  a  name  which  she  has  discarded,  for 
parents  who  are  dead,  and  relations  from  whom  she 
shrank  in  horror?  I  vouch  for  her,  I  tell  you — I, 
Jacques  Dangeau.  Does  any  one  accuse  me?  Does 
any  one  cast  a  slur  upon  my  patriotism?  I  tell  you  I 
would  cut  off  my  right  hand  if  it  offended  those  prin- 
ciples which  I  hold  dearer  than  my  life;  and  saying 
that,  I  say  again,  I  vouch  for  her." 

"All  very  fine  that,"   called  a  man's  voice,   "but 


214       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

what  fight  have  you  to  speak  for  her,  Citizen?  Has  n't 
the  girl  a  tongue  of  her  own?" 

''Yes,  yes!"  shouted  a  big  brewer  who  had  swung 
himself  to  the  edge  of  the  platform,  and  sat  there  kick- 
ing his  heels  noisily.  "Yes,  yes!  it  's  all  very  well  to 
say  '  I  vouch  for  her, '  but  there  's  only  one  woman  any 
man  can  vouch  for,  and  that 's  his  wife." 

"What,  Robinot,  can  you  vouch  for  yours?"  screamed 
Louison;  and  a  roar  of  laughter  went  up,  spiced  by  the 
brewer's  very  evident  discomfort. 

"Yes,  what's  she  to  you  after  all?"  said  another 
woman. 

"A  hussy!"  shrieked  a  third. 

"An  aristocrat!" 

"What  do  you  know  of  her,  and  how  do  you  know 
it?" 

"Explain,  explain!" 

"Death,  death  to  the  aristocrat!" 

Dangeau  sent  his  voice  ringing  through  the  hall: 

"She  is  my  betrothed!" 

A  momentary  hush  fell  upon  the  assembly.  Hebert 
sprang  forward  with  a  curse,  but  Tinville  plucked  him 
back,  whispering,  "Let  him  go  on;  that  11  damn  him, 
and  is  n't  that  what  you  want? " 

Again  Aline's  lips  moved,  but  instead  of  speaking 
she  put  both  hands  to  her  heart,  and  stood  pressing 
them  there  silently.  In  the  strength  of  that  silence 
Dangeau  turned  upon  the  murmuring  crowd. 

"She  is  my  betrothed,  and  I  answer  for  her.  You  all 
know  me.  She  is  an  aristocrat  no  longer,  but  the 
Daughter  of  the  Revolution,  for  it  has  borne  her  into  a 
new  life.  All  the  years  before  she  has  discarded.  From 
its  mighty  heart  she  has  drawn  the  principles  of  freedom, 
and  at  its  guiding  hand  learned  her  first  trembling  steps 


A  Trial  and  a  Wedding  215 

towards  Liberty.  In  trial  of  poverty,  loneliness,  and 
hunger  she  has  proved  her  loyalty  to  the  other  children 
of  our  great  Mother.  Sons  and  Daughters  of  the 
Republic,  protect  this  child  who  claims  to  be  of  your 
line,  who  holds  out  her  hands  to  you  and  cries:  'Am 
I  not  one  of  you?  Will  you  not  acknowledge  me? 
brothers  before  whom  I  have  walked  blamelessly, 
sisters  amongst  whom  I  have  lived  in  poverty  and 
humility.'  " 

He  caught  Mademoiselle's  hand,  and  held  it  up. 

"See  the  fingers  pricked  and  worn,  as  many  of  yours 
are  pricked  and  worn.  See  the  thin  face — thin  as  your 
daughters'  faces  are  thin  when  there  is  not  food  for  all, 
and  the  elder  must  go  without  that  the  younger  may 
have  more.  Look  at  her.  Look  well,  and  remember 
she  comes  to  you  for  justice.  Citizens,  will  you  kill 
your  converts?  She  gives  her  life  and  all  its  hopes  to 
the  Republic,  and  will  the  Republic  destroy  the  gift? 
Keep  the  knife  to  cut  away  the  alien  and  the  enemy. 
Is  my  betrothed  an  alien?  Shall  my  wife  be  an  enemy? 
I  swear  to  you  that,  if  I  believed  it,  my  own  hand  would 
strike  her  down!  If  there  is  a  citizen  here  who  does 
not  believe  that  I  would  shed  the  last  drop  of  my 
heart's  blood  before  I  would  connive  at  the  danger  of 
the  Republic,  let  him  come  forward  and  accuse  me ! " 

"Stop  him!"  gasped  Hebert. 

Fouquier  Tinville  shrugged  his  shoulders,  as  he  and 
Herman  exchanged  glances. 

"No,  thanks,  Hebert,"  he  said  coolly.  "He's  got 
them  now,  and  I  've  no  fancy  for  a  snug  position  be- 
tween the  upper  and  the  nether  millstone.  After  all, 
what  does  it  matter?  There  are  a  hundred  other 
girls"  and  he  spat  on  the  dirty  floor. 

Undoubtedly  Dangeau  had  them,  for  in  that  pause 


2i6      A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

no  one  spoke,  and  his  voice  rang  out  again  at  its  full 
strength : 

"Come  forward  then.     Do  any  accuse  me?** 

There  was  a  prolonged  hush.  The  jury  growled 
amongst  themselves,  but  no  one  coveted  the  part  of 
spokesman. 

Once  Hubert  started  forward,  cleared  his  throat,  then 
reflected  for  a  moment  on  Danton  and  his  ways — re- 
flected, too,  that  this  transaction  would  hardly  bear  the 
light  of  day,  cursed  the  universe  at  large,  and  fell  back 
into  his  chair  choking  with  rage. 

It  appeared  that  no  one  accused  Dangeau.  Far  in 
the  crowd  a  pretty  gipsy  of  a  girl  laughed  loudly. 

"Handsome  Dangeau  for  me!"  she  cried.  "Vive 
Dangeau!" 

In  a  minute  the  whole  hall  took  it  up,  and  the  roof 
rang  with  the  shouting.  The  girl  who  had  laughed  had 
been  lifted  to  her  lover's  shoulders,  and  stood  there, 
flushed  and  exuberant,  leading  the  cheers  with  her  wild, 
shrill  voice. 

When  the  noise  fell  a  little,  she  waved  her  arms, 
crying,  with  a  peal  of  laughter: 

"Let's  have  a  wedding,  a  wedding,  mes  amis!  If 
she  's  the  Daughter  of  the  Revolution,  let  the  Revolu- 
tion give  away  the  bride,  and  we  '11  all  say  Amen!" 

The  crowd's  changed  mood  tossed  the  new  suggestion 
into  instant  popularity.  The  girl's  cry  was  taken  up  on 
all  sides,  there  was  bustling  to  and  fro,  laughter,  gossip, 
whispering,  shouting,  and  general  jubilation.  A  f^te,  a 
spectacle — something  new — oh,  but  quite  new.  A  trial 
that  ended  in  the  bridal  of  the  victim,  to  be  sure  one 
did  not  see  that  every  day.  That  was  romantic.  That 
made  one's  heart  beat.  Well,  well,  she  was  in  luck  to  get 
a  handsome  lover  instead  of  having  her  head  sliced  off. 


A  Trial  and  a  Wedding  217 

''Vive  Dangeau!  Vive  Dangeau  and  the  Daughter 
of  the  Revolution!" 

Up  on  to  the  platform  swarmed  the  crowd,  laughing, 
gesticulating,  pressing  upon  the  jury,  and  even  jostling 
Fouquier  Tinville  himself. 

Hebert  bent  to  his  ear  in  a  last  effort,  but  got  only  a 
curse  and  a  shrug  for  his  pains. 

"I  tell  you,  he  's  got  them,  and  no  human  power  can 
thwart  them  now." 

"You  should  have  shut  his  mouth!  Why  in  the 
devil's  name  did  you  let  him  speak?" 

"You  wanted  him  to  compromise  himself,  and  it 
seemed  the  easiest  way.  He  has  the  devil's  own  luck. 
Hark  to  the  fools  with  their  'Vive  Dangeau!'  A  while 
ago  it  was  'Death  to  the  aristocrat!'  and  now  it  's 
'Dangeau  and  the  Daughter  of  the  Revolution!'  " 

"Speak  to  them, — do  something,"  insisted  Hubert. 

"Try  it  yourself,  and  get  torn  to  pieces,"  retorted 
the  other.  "The  girl  's  not  my  fancy.  Burn  your  own 
fingers  if  you  want  to." 

Dangeau  was  at  the  table  now. 

"We  await  the  decision  of  the  Tribunal,"  he  said, 
with  a  hint  of  sarcasm  in  the  quiet  tones. 

Fouquier  Tinville 's  eyes  rested  insolently  upon  him. 

"Our  Sovereign  has  decided,  it  seems,"  he  said. 
"For  me — I  throw  up  the  prosecution." 

Hebert  flung  away  with  an  oath,  and  Herman  bent 
stolidly  and  wrote  against  the  interrogatory  the  one 
word,   "Acquitted." 

It  stood  out  black  and  bold  in  his  gross  scrawl,  and  as 
he  threw  the  sand  on  it,  Dangeau  turned  away  with  a 
bow. 

Some  one  was  being  pushed  through  the  crowd — a 
dark  man  in  civil  dress,  but  with  the  priest's  look  on 


2i8       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

his  sallow,  nervous  face.  Dangeau  recognised  the  odd, 
cleft  chin  and  restless  eyes  of  Latour,  the  Constitutional 
cur^  of  St.  Jean. 

"A  wedding,  a  wedding!'*  shouted  the  whole  assembly, 
those  at  the  back  crying  the  more  loudly,  as  if  to  make 
up  by  their  own  noise  for  not  being  able  to  hear  what 
was  passing  on  the  platform. 

"A  wedding,  a  wedding!"  shrieked  the  same  women 
who,  not  half  an  hour  ago,  had  raised  the  howl  for  the 
aristocrat's  blood. 

"Bride,  bridegroom,  and  priest,"  laughed  the  gipsy- 
eyed  girl.  "What  more  do  we  want?  The  Citizen 
President  can  give  away  the  bride,  and  I  '11  be  brides- 
maid.    Set  me  down  then,  R^ne,  and  let  's  to  work." 

Her  lover  pushed  a  way  to  the  front  and  lifted  her 
on  to  the  stage.  She  ran  to  Mademoiselle  and  began  to 
touch  her  hair  and  settle  the  kerchief  at  her  throat, 
whilst  Aline  stood  quite,  quite  still,  and  let  her  do  what 
she  would. 

She  had  not  stirred  since  Dangeau  had  released  her 
hand,  and  within  her  every  feeling  and  emotion  lay 
swooning.  It  was  as  if  a  black  tide  had  risen,  covering 
all  within.  Upon  its  dark  mirror  floated  the  reflection 
of  Hebert's  cruel  eyes,  and  loose  lips  that  smiled  upon  a 
girl's  shamed  agony.  If  those  waters  rose  any  higher 
they  would  flood  her  brain  and  send  her  mad  with  horror, 
Dangeau's  voice  seemed  to  arrest  the  tide,  and  whilst 
he  spoke  the  reflection  wavered  and  grew  faint.  She 
listened,  knowing  what  he  said,  as  one  knows  the  con- 
tents of  a  book  read  long  ago ;  but  it  was  the  voice  itself, 
not  the  words  carried  on  it,  that  reached  her  reeling 
brain  and  steadied  it. 

All  at  once  a  hand  on  her  hair,  at  her  breast;  a  girl's 
eyes  shining  with  excitement,  whilst  a  shrill  voice  whis- 


A  Trial  and  a  Wedding  219 

pered,  "Saints!  how  pale  you  are!  What!  not  a  blush 
for  the  bridegroom?"  Then  loud  laughter  all  around, 
and  she  felt  herself  pushed  forward  into  an  open 
space. 

A  ring  had  been  formed  around  one  of  the  tables; 
men  and  women  jostled  at  its  outskirts,  pushed  one 
another  aside,  and  stood  on  tiptoe,  peeping  and  applaud- 
ing. In  the  centre,  Dangeau  with  his  tricolour  sash; 
Mademoiselle,  upon  whose  head  some  one  had  thrust 
the  scarlet  cap  of  Liberty;  and  the  priest,  whose  eyes 
looked  back  and  forth  like  those  of  a  nervous  horse. 
He  cleared  his  throat,  moistened  his  dry  lips,  and  began 
the  Office.  After  a  second's  pause,  Dangeau  took  the 
bride's  hand  and  did  his  part.  Cold  as  no  living  thing 
should  be,  it  lay  in  his,  unresisting  and  unresponsive, 
whilst  his  was  like  his  mood — hotly  masterful.  After 
one  glance  he  dared  not  trust  himself  to  look  at  her. 
Her  white  features  showed  no  trace  of  emotion,  her  eyes 
looked  straight  before  her  in  a  calm  stare,  her  voice 
made  due  response  without  tremor  or  hesitation.  "Ego 
conjugo  vos, "  rang  the  tremendous  words,  and  they  rose 
from  their  knees  before  that  strange  assembly,  man 
and  wife  in  the  sight  of  God  and  the  Republic. 

"Kiss  her  then.  Citizen,"  laughed  the  bridesmaid, 
slipping  her  arm  through  Dangeau's,  and  he  touched 
the  marble  forehead  with  his  lips.  The  first  kiss  of  his 
strong  love,  and  given  and  taken  so.  Fire  and  ice  met, 
thrust  into  contact  of  all  contacts  the  most  intimate. 
How  strange,  how  unbearable!  Fraught  with  what 
presage  of  disaster. 

"Now  you  may  kiss  me,"  said  the  bridesmaid,  pout- 
ing. "Ren6  isn't  looking;  but  be  quick.  Citizen,  for 
he  's  jealous,  and  a  broken  head  would  n't  be  a  pleasant 
marriage  gift." 


2  20       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

Like  a  man  in  a  dream  he  brushed  the  glowing  cheek, 
and  felt  its  warmth. 

Yes,  so  the  living  felt;  but  his  bride  was  cold,  as  the 
week-old  dead  are  cold. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  BARRIER 

AFTER  the  wedding,  what  a  home-coming !  Dangeau 
had  led  his  pale  bride  through  the  cheering, 
applauding  crowd,  which  followed  them  to  their  very- 
door,  and  on  the  threshold  horror  met  them — for  the  floor 
was  dabbled  with  blood.  Therese's  corpse  lay  yet  in  the 
house,  and  a  voluble  neighbour  told  how  Rosalie  had 
murdered  her  cousin,  and  had  been  taken,  raving,  to  the 
cells  of  the  Salp^triere.  The  crowd  was  all  agog  for 
details,  and,  taking  advantage  of  the  diversion,  Dangeau 
cleared  a  path  for  himself  and  Aline.  He  took  her  to 
her  old  room  and  closed  the  door.  The  silence  fell 
strangely. 

"My  dearest,  you  are  safe.  Thank  God  you  are  safe, '  * 
he  said  in  broken  tones. 

She  looked  straight  before  her  with  an  expression 
deeper  than  that  which  is  usually  called  unconscious,  her 
eyes  wide  and  piteous,  like  those  of  a  child  too  badly 
frightened  to  cry  out.  He  took  her  cold  hands  and  held 
them  to  his  breast,  chafing  them  gently,  trying  to  revive 
their  warmth,  and  she  let  him  do  it,  still  with  that  far- 
away, unreal  look. 

"  My  dear,  I  must  go, "  he  said  after  a  moment.  "  For 
both  our  sakes  I  must  see  Danton  at  once,  before  any 
garbled  tale  reaches  his  ear.     I  will  see  that  there  is 


222       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

some  one  in  the  house.  Louison  Michel  would  come  I 
think.  There  is  my  report  to  make,  letters  of  the  first 
importance  to  be  delivered;  a  good  deal  of  work  before 
me,  in  fact.  But  you  will  not  be  afraid  now?  You  are 
safer  than  any  woman  in  Paris  to-day.  You  will  not  be 
nervous?" 

She  shook  her  head  slightly,  and  drew  one  hand  away 
in  order  to  push  the  hair  from  her  forehead.  The  gesture 
was  a  very  weary  one,  and  Dangeau  would  have  given 
the  world  to  catch  her  in  his  arms. 

'*So  tired,  my  heart,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice;  and  as  a 
little  quiver  took  her,  he  continued  quickly:  ''I  will  find 
Louison;  she  came  here  with  us,  and  is  sure  not  to  be  far 
away.  She  will  look  after  you,  and  bring  you  food,  and 
then  you  should  sleep.     I  dare  not  stay." 

He  kissed  the  hand  which  still  lay  passively  in  his  and 
went  out  hurriedly,  not  trusting  himself  to  turn  and  look 
at  her  again  lest  he  should  lose  his  careful  self-control 
and  startle  her  by  some  wild  outpouring  of  love,  triumph, 
and  thankfulness. 

Aline  heard  his  footsteps  die  away,  listening  with 
strained  attention  until  the  last  sound  melted  into  a 
tense  silence.  Then  she  looked  wildly  round,  her  breast 
heaved  distressfully,  and  tottering  to  the  bed  she  fell  on 
it  face  downwards,  and  lay  there  in  a  stunned  fatigue  of 
mind  and  body  that  left  no  place  for  thought  or  tears. 
Presently  came  Louison,  all  voluble  eagerness  to  talk  of 
the  wedding  and  the  murder,  especially  the  latter. 

"And  to  think  that  it  was  Jean's  knife !  Holy  Virgin, 
if  I  had  known  what  she  came  for!  There  she  sat,  and 
stared,  and  stared,  until  I  told  her  she  had  best  be  going, 
since  I,  at  least,  had  no  time  to  waste.  Yesterday,  that 
was;  and  this  morning  when  Jean  seeks  his  knife  it  is 
gone, — and  the  noise,  and  the  fuss.     *  My  friend, '  I  said. 


The  Barrier  223 

*do  I  eat  knives?'  and  with  that  I  turned  him  out,  and 
all  the  while  Rosalie  had  it.  Ugh!  that  makes  one 
shudder.  Not  that  that  baggage  Thdrese  was  any  loss, 
but  it  might  as  well  have  been  you,  or  me.  When  one 
is  mad  they  do  not  distinguish.  For  me,  I  have  said  for 
a  long  time  that  Rosalie's  mind  was  going,  and  now  it  is 
seen  who  is  right.  Well,  well,  now  Charlotte  will  come 
round.  Mark  my  words,  Charlotte  will  be  here  bright 
and  early  to-morrow,  if  not  to-night.  It  will  be  the  first 
time  she  has  set  foot  here  in  ten  years.  She  hated  Rosalie 
like  poison, — a  stepmother,  only  a  dozen  years  older  than 
herself,  and  when  the  old  man  died  she  cleared  out,  and 
has  never  spoken  to  Rosalie  since  the  funeral.  But  she  'U 
be  round  now,  mark  my  words. " 

Aline  lay  quite  still.  She  was  just  conscious  that 
Louison  was  there,  talking  a  great  deal,  and  that  pres- 
ently she  brought  her  some  hot  soup,  which  it  was 
strangely  comfortable  to  swallow.  The  little  woman  was 
not  ungentle  with  her,  and  did  not  leave  her  until  the 
half -swoon  of  fatigue  had  passed  into  deep  sleep.  She 
herself  was  to  sleep  in  the  house.  Dangeau  had  asked 
her  to,  saying  he  might  be  late,  and  she  had  promised, 
pleased  to  be  on  the  spot  where  such  exciting  events  had 
taken  place,  and  convinced  that  it  would  be  for  the  health 
of  her  husband's  soul  to  have  the  charge  of  the  children 
for  once. 

It  was  very  late  before  Dangeau  came  home.  If  the 
French  language  holds  no  such  word,  his  heart  supplied 
it,  for  the  first  time  in  all  the  long  years  during  which 
there  had  been  no  one  to  miss  him  going,  or  look  for  him 
returning.  Now  the  little  room  under  the  roof  held  the 
long-loved,  the  despaired-of ,  the  unattainably- distant, — 
and  she  was  his,  his  wife,  caught  by  his  hands  from  insult 
and  from  death.  Outside  her  door  he  hesitated  a  moment, 


2  24       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

then  lifted  the  latch  with  a  gentle  touch,  and  went  in 
reverently.  The  moon  was  shining  into  the  room,  and 
one  long  beam  trembled  mistily  just  above  the  bed, 
throwing  upon  the  motionless  form  below  a  light  like 
that  of  the  land  wherein  we  walk  in  dreams.  Aline  was 
asleep.  She  lay  on  her  side,  with  one  hand  under  her 
cheek,  and  her  loosened  hair  in  a  great  swathe  across  the 
bosom  that  scarcely  seemed  to  lift  beneath  it,  so  deep 
the  tranced  fatigue  that  held  her. 

The  moon  was  still  rising,  and  the  beam  slid  lower, 
lower;  now  it  silvered  her  brow, — now  showed  the  dark, 
curled  lashes  lying  upon  a  cheek  white  with  that  trans- 
lucent pallor — sleep's  gift  to  youth.  Her  chin  was  a 
little  lifted,  the  soft  mouth  relaxed,  and  its  tender  curve 
had  taken  a  look  at  once  pitiful  and  pure,  like  that  of  a 
child  drowsing  after  pain.  Her  eyelids  were  only  half- 
closed,  and  he  was  aware  of  the  sleeping  blue  within,  of 
the  deeper  stain  below ;  and  all  his  heart  went  out  to  her 
in  a  tremulous  rapture  of  adoration  which  caught  his 
breath,  and  ran  in  fire  through  every  vein.  How  tired 
she  was,  and  how  deeply  asleep, — how  young,  and  pure. 

A  thought  of  Hebert  rose  upon  his  shuddering  mind, 
and  involuntarily  words  broke  from  him — "Ah,  mon 
Dieu!"  he  said,  with  heaving  chest. 

Aline  stirred  a  little;  a  slow,  fluttering  sigh  interrupted 
her  breathing,  as  she  withdrew  the  hand  beneath  her 
cheek  and  put  it  out  gropingly.  Then  she  sighed  again 
and  turned  from  the  light,  nestling  into  the  pillow  with 
a  movement  that  hid  her  face.  If  Dangeau  had  gone  to 
her  then,  knelt  by  the  bed,  and  put  his  arms  about  her, 
she  might  have  turned  to  his  protecting  love  as  instinct- 
ively as  ever  child  to  its  mother.  But  that  very  love 
withheld  him.  That,  and  the  thought  of  Hebert.  If 
she  shotild  think  him  such  another!     Oh,  God  forbid! 


The  Barrier  225 

He  looked  once  more,  blessed  her  in  his  soul,  and 
turned  away. 

In  the  morning  he  was  afoot  betimes.  Danton  had 
set  an  early  hour  for  the  conclusion  of  the  business 
between  them,  and  it  was  noon  past  before  he  returned. 

In  the  shop  he  found  a  pale,  dark,  thin-lipped  woman, 
engaged  in  an  extremely  thorough  scrubbing  and  tidying 
of  the  premises.  She  stopped  him  at  once,  with  a 
grin— 

"I  11  have  no  loafing  or  gossiping  here.  Citizen";  and 
received  his  explanation  with  perfect  indifference. 

''I  am  Charlotte  Lebceuf.  I  take  everything  over. 
Bah!  the  state  the  house  is  in!  Fitter  for  pigs  than 
Christians.  For  the  time  you  may  stay  on.  You  have 
two  rooms,  you  say?" 

"Yes,  two,  Citoyenne." 

"And  you  wish  to  keep  them?  Well,  I  have  no 
objection.  Later  on  I  shall  dispose  of  the  business,  but 
these  are  bad  times  for  selling;  and  now,  if  the  Citizen 
will  kindly  not  hinder  me  at  my  work  any  more  for  the 
present. ' '  She  shrugged  her  shoulders  expressively,  add- 
ing, as  she  seized  the  broom  again,  "  Half  the  quarter  has 
been  here  already,  but  they  got  nothing  out  of  me." 

Aline  had  risen  and  dressed  herself.  Rosalie  had  left 
her  room  just  as  it  was  on  the  day  of  her  arrest,  and 
the  dust  stood  thick  on  table,  floor,  and  window-sill. 
Mechanically  she  began  to  set  things  straight;  to  dust 
and  arrange  her  few  possessions,  which  lay  just  as  they 
had  been  left  after  the  usual  rummage  for  treasonable 
papers. 

Presently  she  found  the  work  she  had  been  doing,  a 
stitch  half  taken,  the  needle  rusty.  She  cleaned  it  care- 
fully, running  it  backwards  and  forwards  through  the 
stuff  of  her  skirt,  and  taking  the  work,  she  began  to  sew, 

IS 


226       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

quickly,  and  without  thought  of  anything  except  the 
neat,  fine  stitches. 

At  Dangeau's  knock,  followed  almost  immediately  by 
his  entrance,  her  hands  dropped  into  her  lap,  and  she 
looked  up  in  a  scared  panic  of  realisation.  All  that  she 
had  kept  at  bay  rushed  in  upon  her;  the  little  tasks 
which  she  had  set  as  barriers  between  her  and  thought 
fell  away  into  the  past,  leaving  her  face  to  face  with  her 
husband  and  the  future. 

He  crossed  the  floor  to  her  quickly,  and  took  her 
hands.     He  felt  them  tremble,  and  put  them  to  his  lips. 

"Aline,  my  dearest!"  he  said  in  a  low,  vibrating 
voice. 

With  a  quick-caught  breath  she  drew  away  from  him, 
sore  trouble  in  her  eyes. 

"Wait!"  she  panted.  Oh,  where  was  her  courage? 
Why  had  she  not  thought,  planned?  What  could  she 
say?     "Oh,  please  wait!" 

There  was  a  long  pause,  whilst  he  held  her  hands  and 
looked  into  her  face. 

"There  is  something — something  I  must  tell  you," 
she  murmured  at  last,  her  colour  coming  and  going. 

The  pressure  upon  her  hands  became  suddenly  ago- 
nising. 

"Ah,  mon  Dieu!  he  has  not  harmed  you?  Aline, 
Aline — for  God's  sake " 

She  said,  "No,  no,"  hastily,  relieved  to  have  something 
to  answer,  wondering  that  he  should  be  so  moved,  fright- 
ened by  the  great  sob  that  shook  him.     Then — 

"How  do  you  know  about — him?"  and  the  words 
came  hardly  from  her. 

"Rosalie,"  he  said,  catching  at  his  self-control, — 
"Rosalie  told  me — curse  him — curse  him!  Thank 
God  you  are  safe.     He  cannot  touch  you  now.     What 


The  Barrier  227 

is  it,  then,  my  dear?"  and  the  voice  that  had  cursed 
Hebert  seemed  to  caress  her. 

"If  you  know — that" — the  word  came  on  a  shudder 
— ''you  know  why  I  did — what  I  did — yesterday.  But 
no — I  forget;  no  one  knew  it  all,  no  one  knew  the  worst. 
I  could  n't  say  it,  but  now  I  must — I  must." 

"My  dear,  leave  it — leave  it.  Why  should  you  say 
anything?" 

But  she  took  a  long  breath  and  went  on,  speaking  very 
low,  and  hurriedly,  with  bent  head,  and  cheeks  that 
flamed  with  a  shamed,  crimson  patch. 

"He  is  a  devil,  I  think;  and  when  I  said  I  would  die, 
he  said — oh,  mon  Dieu! — he  said  his  turn  came  first,  he 
had  friends,  he  could  get  me  into  his  power  after  I  was 
condemned." 

Dangeau's  arm  went  up — the  arm  with  which  he 
would  have  killed  Hebert  had  he  stood  before  him — and 
then  fell  protectingly  about  her  shoulders. 

"Aline,  let  him  go — don't  think  of  him  again.  You 
are  safe — Death  has  given  you  back  to  me."  But  she 
shrank  away. 

"Oh,  Monsieur,"  she  said,  with  a  quick  gasp,  "it  was 
not  death  that  I  feared — indeed  it  was  not  death.  I 
could  have  died,  I  should  have  died,  before  I  betrayed — 
everything — as  I  did  yesterday.  I  should  have  died, 
but  there  are  some  things  too  hard  to  bear.  Oh,  I  do 
not  think  God  can  expect  a  woman  to  bear — that!" 
Again  the  deep  shudder  shook  her.  "Then  you  came, 
and  I  took  the  one  way  out,  or  let  you  take  it." 

"Aline!" 

"  No,  no, "  she  cried, — "no,  no,  you  must  understand — 
surely  you  understand  that  there  is  too  much  between 
us — we  can  never  be — never  be — oh,  don't  you  under- 
stand?" 


228       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

Dangeau's  face  hardened.  The  tenderness  went  out  of 
it,  and  his  eyes  were  cold  as  steel.  How  cruelly  she  was 
stabbing  him  she  did  not  know.  Her  mind  held  dazed 
to  its  one  idea.  She  had  betrayed  the  honour  of  her 
race,  to  save  her  own.  That  red  river  of  which  she  had 
spoken  long  months  before,  it  lay  between  them  still, 
only  now  she  had  stained  her  very  soul  with  it.  But 
not  for  profit  of  safety,  not  for  pleasure  of  love,  not  even 
for  life,  bare  life,  but  to  escape  the  last,  worst  insult  life 
holds — insult  of  which  it  is  no  disgrace  to  be  afraid.  She 
must  make  that  clear  to  him,  but  it  was  so  hard,  so  hard 
to  find  words,  and  she  was  so  tired,  so  bruised,  she 
hungered  so  for  peace.  How  easy  to  yield,  to  take  life's 
sweetness  with  the  bitterness,  love's  promise  with  love's 
pain!  But  no,  it  were  too  base;  the  bitterness  and  the 
pain  were  her  portion.     His  part  escaped  her. 

When  he  spoke  his  changed  voice  startled  her  ears. 

"So  it  comes  to  this,"  he  said,  with  a  short,  bitter 
laugh;  "having  to  choose  between  me  and  Hebert,  you 
chose  me.  Had  the  choice  lain  between  me  and  death, 
you  would  have  gone  to  the  guillotine  without  soiling 
your  fingers  by  touching  me." 

She  looked  at  him — a  bewildered,  frightened  look. 

Pain  spurred  him  on. 

"Oh,  you  make  it  very  clear,  my  wife.  Ah!  that 
makes  you  wince?  Yes,  you  are  my  wife,  and  you 
have  just  told  me  that  you  would  rather  have  died  than 
have  married  me.  Yesterday  I  kissed  your  forehead. 
Is  there  a  stain  there?  Suppose  I  were  to  kiss  you 
now?  Suppose  I  were  to  claim  what  is  mine?  What 
then.  Aline,  what  then?" 

A  look  she  had  never  seen  before  was  in  his  eyes,  as 
he  bent  them  upon  her.  His  breath  came  fast,  and  for 
a  moment  her  mind  was  terrified  by  the  realisation  that 


The  Barrier  229 

her  power  to  hold,  to  check  him,  was  gone.  This  was 
a  new  Dangeau — one  she  had  never  seen.  She  had 
been  so  sure  of  him.  All  her  fears  had  been  for  her- 
self, for  that  rebel  in  her  own  heart ;  but  she  had  thought 
her  self-control  could  give  the  law  to  his,  and  had  never 
for  a  moment  dreamed  that  his  could  break  down 
thus,  leaving  her  face  to  face  with — what?  Was  it  the 
brute? 

She  shrank,  waiting. 

"I  am  your  husband.  Aline,"  he  said  in  a  strange 
voice.  "I  could  compel  your  kisses.  If  I  bade  you 
come  to  me  now,  what  then?  Does  your  Church  not 
order  wives  to  obey  their  husbands?" 

She  looked  at  him  piteously. 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

"Yes,  Monsieur?  Very  well,  then,  since  I  order  it, 
and  the  Church  tells  you  to  obey  me,  come  here  and 
kiss  me,  my  wife." 

That  drew  a  shiver  from  her,  but  she  came  slowly 
and  stood  before  him  with  such  a  look  of  appeal  as 
smote  him  through  all  his  bitter  anger. 

"You  will  obey?" 

She  spoke,  agonised. 

"You  can  compel  me.  Ah!  you  have  been  good  to 
me — I  have  thought  you  good — you  will  not " 

He  laid  his  hands  heavily  upon  her  shoulders  and 
felt  her  shrink.  Oh  death — the  pain  of  it !  He  thought 
of  her  lying  in  the  moonlight,  and  the  confiding  innocence 
of  her  face.  How  changed  now ! — all  drawn  and  terrified. 
Hebert  had  seen  it  so.     He  spoke  his  thought  roughly. 

"Is  that  how  you  looked  at  him?"  he  said,  bending 
over  her,  and  she  felt  her  whole  body  quiver  as  he  spoke. 
She  half  closed  her  eyes,  and  looked  about  to  swoon. 

"Yes,  I  can  compel  you,"  he  said  again,  low  and 


230       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

bitterly.  "  I  can  compel  you,  but  I  'm  not  Hubert,  Aline, 
and  I  shan't  ask  you  to  choose  between  me  and  death." 
He  took  his  hands  away  and  stepped  back  from  her, 
breathing  hard. 

"I  kissed  you  once,  but  I  shall  never  kiss  you  again. 
I  shall  never  touch  you  against  your  will,  you  need  not 
be  afraid.  That  I  have  loved  you  will  not  harm  you, — 
you  can  forget  it.  That  you  must  call  yourself  Dangeau, 
instead  of  Roche,  need  not  matter  to  you  so  greatly.  I 
shall  not  trouble  you  again,  so  you  need  not  wish  you 
had  chosen  my  rival.  Death.  Child,  child!  don't  look 
at  me  like  that!" 

As  he  spoke  Aline  sank  into  a  chair,  and  laying  her 
arms  upon  the  table,  she  put  her  head  down  on  them 
with  a  sharp,  broken  cry: 

"Oh  God,  what  have  I  done — what  have  I  done?" 

Dangeau  looked  at  her  with  a  sort  of  strained  pity. 
Then  he  laughed  again  that  short,  hard  laugh,  which 
comes  to  some  men  instead  of  a  sob. 

''Mile  de  Rochambeau  has  married  out  of  her  order, 
but  since  her  plebeian  husband  quite  understands  his 
place,  quite  understands  that  a  touch  from  him  would 
be  worse  than  death,  and  since  he  is  fool  enough  to 
accept  this  proud  position,  there  is  not  so  much  harm 
done,  and  you  may  console  yourself,  poor  child." 

Every  word  stabbed  deep,  and  deeper.  How  she  had 
hurt  him — oh,  how  she  had  hurt  him!  She  pressed  her 
burning  forehead  against  her  trembling  hands,  and  felt 
the  tears  run  hot,  as  if  they  came  from  her  very  heart. 

Dangeau  had  reached  the  door  when  he  turned 
suddenly,  came  back  and  laid  his  hand  for  a  moment 
on  her  shoulder.  Even  at  that  moment,  to  touch  her 
was  a  poignant  and  wonderful  thing,  but  he  drew  back 
instantly,  and  spoke  in  a  harsh  tone. 


The  Barrier  231 

"One  thing  I  have  a  right  to  ask — that  you  remember 
that  you  bear  my  name,  that  you  bear  in  mind  that  I 
have  pledged  my  honour  for  you.  You  have  been  at  the 
Abbaye;  I  hear  the  place  is  honeycombed  with  plots. 
My  wife  must  not  plot.  If  I  have  saved  your  honour, 
remember  you  hold  mine.  I  pledged  it  to  the  people 
yesterday,  I  pledged  it  to  Danton  to-day." 

Aline  raised  her  head  proudly.  Her  eyes  were  steady 
behind  the  brimming  tears. 

"  Monsieur,  your  honour  is  safe, "  she  said,  with  a  thrill 
in  her  voice. 

Dangeau  gazed  long  at  her — something  of  the  look 
upon  his  face  with  which  a  man  takes  his  farewell  of 
the  beloved  dead.  Then  his  whole  face  set  cool  and 
hard,  and  without  another  word  he  turned  and  strode 
out,  his  dreamed-of  home  in  ruins — love's  ashes  heaped 
and  dusty  on  the  cold  and  broken  hearth. 


CHAPTER  XX 

A   ROYALIST   PLOT 

CHARLOTTE  LEBCEUF  was  one  of  the  people  who 
would  certainly  have  set  cleanliness  above  godli- 
ness, and  she  sacrificed  comfort  to  it  with  a  certain 
ruthless  pleasure.  The  house  she  declared  to  be  a 
sty,  impossible  to  cleanse,  but  she  would  do  her  best, 
and  her  best  apparently  involved  a  perpetual  steam  of 
hot  water,  and  a  continual  reek  of  soap-suds.  Dangeau 
put  up  more  than  one  sigh  at  the  shrine  of  the  absent 
Rosalie  as  he  stumbled  over  pails  and  brooms,  or  slipped 
on  the  damp  floor.  For  the  rest,  the  old  life  had  begun 
again,  but  with  a  dead,  dreary  weight  upon  it. 

Dangeau  at  his  busy  writing,  at  his  nightly  pacings, 
and  Aline  at  her  old  task  of  embroidering,  felt  the 
burden  of  life  press  heavily,  chafed  at  it  for  a  moment, 
perhaps,  and  turned  again  with  a  sigh  to  toil,  un- 
sweetened by  that  nameless  something  which  is  the  salt 
of  life.  Once  he  ventured  on  a  half-angry  remonstrance 
on  the  long  hours  of  stitching,  which  left  her  face  so 
pale  and  her  eyes  so  tired.  It  was  not  necessary  for 
his  wife,  he  began,  but  at  the  first  word  so  painful  a 
colour  stained  her  cheek,  eyes  so  proudly  distressed 
looked  at  him  between  imploring  and  defiance,  that  he 
stammered,  drew  a  long  breath,  and  turned  away  with  a 
sound,  half  groan,  half  curse.     Aline  wept  bitterly  when 

232 


A  Royalist  Plot  233 

he  was  gone,  worked  harder  than  before,  and  life  went 
drearily  enough  for  a  week  or  so. 

Then  one  day  in  July  Dangeau  received  orders  to  go 
South  again.  He  had  known  they  would  come,  and  the 
call  to  action  was  what  he  craved,  and  yet  what  to  do 
with  the  girl  who  bore  his  name  he  could  not  tell. 

He  was  walking  homewards,  revolving  a  plan  in  his 
mind,  when  to  his  surprise  he  saw  Aline  before  him,  and 
not  alone.  Beside  her  walked  a  man  in  workman's  dress, 
and  they  were  in  close  conversation.  As  he  caught 
sight  of  them  they  turned  down  a  small  side  street,  and 
after  a  moment's  amazed  hesitation  he  took  the  same 
direction,  walking  slowly,  but  ready  to  interfere  if  he 
saw  cauvse. 

Earlier  in  the  afternoon,  Aline  having  finished  her 
work,  had  tied  it  up  neatly  and  gone  out.  The  streets 
were  a  horror  to  her,  but  she  was  obliged  to  take  her 
embroidery  to  the  woman  who  disposed  of  it,  and  on 
these  hot  days  she  craved  for  air.  She  accomplished 
her  business,  and  started  homewards,  walking  slowly, 
and  enjoying  the  cool  breeze  which  had  sprung  up.  As 
she  turned  out  of  the  more  frequented  thoroughfares,  a 
man,  roughly  dressed,  passed  her,  hung  on  his  footsteps 
a  little,  and  as  she  came  up  to  him,  looked  sharply  at 
her,  and  said  in  a  low  voice,  "Mile  de  Rocham- 
beau?" 

She  started,  her  heart  beating  violently,  and  was 
about  to  walk  on,  when  coming  still  nearer  her,  he 
glanced  all  round  and  rapidly  made  the  sign  of  the  cross 
in  the  air.  With  a  sudden  shock  she  recognised  the 
Abb^  Loisel. 

"It  is  M.  I'Abbe?"  she  said  in  a  voice  as  low  as  his 
own. 

"Yes,  it  is  I.     Walk  on  quietly,  and  do  not  appear  to 


234       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

be  specially  attentive.  I  saw  you  last  at  the  Abbaye, 
how  is  it  that  I  meet  you  here?" 

A  slight  colour  rose  to  Aline' s  cheek.  Her  tone 
became  distant. 

"I  think  you  are  too  well  informed  as  to  what  passes 
in  Paris  not  to  know,  M.  I'Abb^, "  she  said. 

They  came  out  into  a  little  crowd  of  people  as  she 
spoke,  and  he  walked  on  without  replying,  his  thoughts 
busy. 

Part  saint,  part  conspirator,  he  had  enough  of  the 
busybody  in  his  composition  to  make  his  position  as  arch 
manipulator  of  Royalist  plots  a  thoroughly  congenial 
one.  In  Mile  de  Rochambeau  he  saw  a  ravelled  thread, 
and  hastened  to  pick  it  up,  with  the  laudable  intention  of 
working  it  into  his  network  of  intrigue.  They  came 
clear  of  the  press,  and  he  turned  to  her,  his  pale  face 
austerely  plump,  his  restless  eyes  hard. 

"I  heard  what  I  could  hardly  believe,"  he  returned. 
*'I  heard  that  Henri  de  Rochambeau's  daughter  had 
bought  her  life  by  accepting  marriage  with  an  atheist 
and  a  regicide,  a  Republican  Deputy  of  the  name  of 
Dangeau. " 

Aline  bit  her  lip,  her  eyes  stung.  She  would  not 
justify  herself  to  this  man.  There  was  only  one  man 
alive  who  mattered  enough  for  that,  but  it  was  bitter 
enough  to  hear,  for  this  was  what  all  would  say.  She 
had  known  it  all  along,  but  realisation  was  keen,  and 
she  shrank  from  the  pictured  scorn  of  Mme  de  Matigny's 
eyes  and  from  Marguerite's  imagined  recoil.  She  walked 
on  a  little  way  before  she  could  say  quietly : 

"It  is  true  that   I  am  married  to   M.   Dangeau." 

But  the  Abbe  had  seen  her  face  quiver,  and  drew  his 
own  conclusions.  He  was  versed  in  reading  between  the 
lines. 


A  Royalist  Plot  235 

"  Mme  de  Matigny  suffered  yesterday, "  he  said  with 
intentional  abruptness,  and  Aline  gave  a  low  cry. 

" Marguerite — not  Marguerite!"  she  cried  out,  and  he 
touched  her  arm  warningly. 

"Not  quite  so  loud,  if  you  please,  Madame,  and 
control  your  features  better.  Yes,  that  is  not  so  bad. 
And  now  allow  me  to  ask  you  a  question.  Why  should 
Mile  de  Matigny's  fate  interest  the  wife  of  the  regicide 
Dangeau?" 

"M.  I'Abb^,  for  pity*s  sake,  tell  me,  she  is  not  dead 
— little  Marguerite?" 

"Not  this  time,  Madame,  but  who  knows  when  the 
blow  will  fall?  But  there,  it  can  matter  very  little  to 
you." 

"To  me?"  She  sighed  heavily.  "It  matters  greatly. 
M.  TAbb^;  I  do  not  forget  my  friends.  I  have  not  so 
many  that  I  can  forget  them. " 

*  *  You  remember  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  M.  I'Abb^!" 

"And  you  would  help  them?" 

"If  I  could." 

He  paused,  scrutinising  her  earnest  face.  Then  he 
said  slowly:     , 

"You  bought  your  life  at  a  great  price,  and  some- 
thing is  due  to  those  whom  you  left  behind  you  in  peril 
whilst  you  went  out  to  safety.  I  knew  your  father.  It 
is  well  that  he  is  dead — yes,  I  say  that  it  is  well;  but 
there  is  an  atonement  possible.  In  that  you  are  happy. 
From  where  you  are,  you  can  hold  out  a  hand  to  those 
who  are  in  danger;  you  may  do  more,  if  you  have  the 
courage,  and — if  we  can  trust  you." 

His  keen  look  dwelt  on  her,  and  saw  her  face  change 
suddenly,  the  eager  light  go  out  of  it. 

"  M.  TAbb^,  you  must  not  tell  me  anything, "  she  said 


236       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

quickly,  catching  her  breath;  for  Dangeau's  voice  had 
sounded  suddenly  in  her  memory : 

"I  have  pledged  my  honour";  and  she  heard  the 
ring  of  her  own  response — "Monsieur,  your  honour  is 
safe. "  She  had  answered  so  confidently,  and  now,  what- 
ever she  did,  dishonour  seemed  imminent,  unavoidable. 

"You  have  indeed  gone  far,"  he  said.  "You  must 
not  hear — I  must  not  tell.  What  does  it  mean?  Who 
forbids?" 

Aline  turned  to  him  desperately. 

"  M.  I'Abb^,  my  hands  are  tied.  You  spoke  just  now 
of  M.  Dangeau,  but  you  do  not  know  him.  He  is  a 
good  man — an  honourable  man.  He  has  protected  me 
from  worse  than  death,  and  in  order  to  do  this  he  risked 
his  own  life,  and  he  pledged  his  honour  for  me  that  I 
would  engage  in  no  plots — do  nothing  against  the 
Republic.  When  I  let  him  make  that  pledge,  and 
what  drove  me  to  do  so,  lies  between  me  and  my  own 
conscience.     I  accepted  a  trust,  and  I  cannot  betray  it. " 

"Fine  words,"  said  Loisel  curtly.  "Fine  words. 
Dutiful  words  from  a  daughter  of  the  Church.  Let  me 
remind  you  that  an  oath  taken  under  compulsion  is  not 
binding." 

"He  said  that  he  had  pledged  his  honour,  and  I  told 
him  that  his  honour  was  safe.  I  do  not  break  a  pledge, 
M.  I'Abb^." 

"So  for  a  word  spoken  in  haste  to  this  atheist,  to 
this  traitor  stained  with  your  King's  blood,  you  will 
dllow  your  friends  to  perish,  you  will  throw  away  their 
lives  and  your  own  chance  of  atoning  for  the  scandal  of 
your  marriage — "  he  began;  but  she  lifted  her  head 
with  a  quick,  proud  gesture. 

"M.  I'Abb^,  I  cannot  hear  such  words." 

"You  only  have  to  raise  your  voice  a  little  more  and 


A  Royalist  Plot  237 

you  will  hear  no  more  words  of  mine.  See,  there  is  a 
municipal  guard.  Tell  him  that  this  is  the  Abbe  Loisel, 
non-juring  priest,  and  you  will  be  rid  of  me  easily 
Enough.  You  will  find  it  harder  to  stifle  the  voice  of 
your  own  conscience.  Remember,  Madame,  that  there 
Is  a  worse  thing  even  than  dishonour  of  the  body,  and 
that  is  damnation  of  the  soul.  If  you  have  been  preserved 
from  the  one,  take  care  how  you  fall  into  the  other. 
What  do  you  owe  to  this  man  who  has  seduced  you 
from  your  duty?  Nothing,  I  tell  you.  And  what  do 
you  owe  to  your  Church  and  to  your  order?  Can  you 
doubt?     Your  obedience,  your  help,  your  repentance." 

The  Abb^  had  raised  his  voice  a  little  as  he  spoke. 
*rhe  street  before  them  was  empty,  and  he  was  unaware 
that  they  were  being  followed.  A  portion  of  what  he 
Baid  reached  Dangeau's  ears,  for  the  prolonged  conversa- 
tion had  made  him  uneasy,  and  he  had  hastened  his 
steps.  Up  to  now  he  had  caught  no  word  of  what  was 
passing,  but  Aline's  gestures  were  familiar  to  him,  and 
he  recognised  that  lift  of  the  head  which  was  always 
with  her  a  signal  of  distress.  Now  he  had  caught 
enough,  and  more  than  enough,  and  a  couple  of  strides 
brought  him  level  with  them.  Aline  started  violently, 
and  looked  quickly  from  Dangeau  to  the  priest,  and 
back  again  at  Dangeau.  He  was  very  stern,  and  wore 
an  expression  of  indignant  contempt  which  was  new 
to  her. 

"Good-day,  Citizen,"  he  said,  with  a  sarcastic  inflex- 
ion. "I  will  relieve  you  of  the  trouble  of  escorting  my 
wife  any  farther. " 

Loisel  was  wondering  how  much  had  been  overheard, 
and  wished  himself  well  out  of  the  situation.  He  was 
not  in  the  least  afraid  of  going  to  prison  or  to  the  guil- 
lotine,  but  there  were  reasons  enough  and  to  spare 


2sS      A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

why  his  liberty  at  the  present  juncture  was  imperative. 
One  of  the  many  plots  for  releasing  the  Queen  was 
in  progress,  and  he  carried  upon  him  papers  of  the  first 
importance.  It  was  to  serve  this  plot  that  he  had  made 
a  bid  for  Aline 's  help.  In  her  unique  position  she 
might  have  rendered  priceless  services,  but  it  was  not 
to  be,  and  he  hastened  to  •  extricate  himself  from  a 
position  which  threatened  disaster  to  his  central 
scheme. 

"Good-day,"  he  returned  with  composure,  and  was 
moving  off,  when  Dangeau  detained  him  with  a  gesture. 

"One  moment.  Citizen.  I  neither  know  your  name 
nor  do  I  wish  to  know  it,  but  it  seemed  to  me  that 
your  conversation  was  distressing  to  my  wife.  I  very 
earnestly  deprecate  any  renewal  of  it,  and  should  my 
wishes  in  the  matter  be  disregarded  I  should  conceive 
it  my  duty  to  inform  myself  more  fully — but  I  think 
you  understand  me,  Citizen?" 

So  this  was  the  husband?  A  strong  man,  not  the 
type  to  be  hoodwinked,  best  to  let  the  girl  go;  but  as 
the  thoughts  flashed  on  his  mind,  he  was  aware  of  her 
at  his  elbow. 

"M.  I'Abbe,"  she  said  very  low,  "tell  Marguerite — 
tell  her — oh!  ask  her  not  to  think  hardly  of  me.  I 
pray  for  her  always,  I  hope  to  see  her  again,  and  I  will 
do  what  I  can." 

She  ran  back  again,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  and 
walked  in  silence  by  Dangeau's  side  until  they  reached 
the  house.  He  made  no  attempt  to  speak,  but  on  the 
landing  he  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  followed  her 
into  her  room. 

"Danton  spoke  to  me  this  morning, "  he  said,  moving 
to  the  window,  where  he  stood  looking  out.  "They 
want  me  to  go  South  again.     Lyons  is  in  revolt,  and  is 


A  Royalist  Plot  239 

to  be  reduced  by  arms.     Dubois-Crancy  commands,  but 
Bonnet  has  fallen  sick,  and  I  am  to  take  his  place." 

Aline  had  seated  herself,  and  picked  up  a  strip  of 
muslin.  Under  its  cover  her  hands  clasped  each  other 
very  tightly.  When  he  paused  she  said:  "Yes,  Mon- 
sieur." 

'*I  am  to  start  immediately." 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

He  swung  round,  looked  at  her  angrily  for  a  moment, 
and  then  stared  again  into  the  dirty  street. 

"It  is  a  question  of  what  you  are  to  do,"  he  said 
impatiently. 

"I?     But  I  shall  stay  here.     What  else  is  there  for  me 
to  do?" 
•    "I  cannot  leave  you  alone  in  Paris  again. ' ' 

"Monsieur?" 

"What!"  he  cried.  "Have  you  forgotten?"  and  she 
bent  to  hide  her  sudden  pallor. 

"What  am  I  to  do,  then?"  she  asked  very  low.  Her 
submission  at  once  touched  and  angered  him.  It  allured 
by  its  resemblance  to  a  wife's  obedience,  and  repelled 
because  the  resemblance  was  only  mirage,  and  not 
reality. 

"I  cannot  have  you  here,  I  cannot  take  you  with  me, 
and  there  is  only  one  place  I  can  send  you  to — a  little 
place  called  Rancy-les-Bois,  about  thirty  miles  from 
Paris.  My  mother's  sisters  live  there,  and  I  should  ask 
them  to  receive  you." 

"I  will  do  as  you  think  best,"  murmured  Aline. 

"They  are  unmarried,  one  is  an  invalid,  and  they  are 
good  women.  It  is  some  years  since  I  have  seen  them, 
but  I  remember  my  Aunt  Ange  was  greatly  beloved  in 
Rancy.     I  think  you  would  be  safe  with  her. " 

A  vision  of  safety  and  a  woman's  protection  rose 


240       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

persuasively  before  Aline,  and  she  looked  up  with  a 
quick,  confiding  glance  that  moved  Dangeau  strangely. 
She  was  at  once  so  rigid  and  so  soft,  so  made  for  love 
and  trusting  happiness,  and  yet  so  resolute  to  repel  it. 
He  bit  his  lip  as  he  stood  looking  at  her,  and  a  sort  of 
rage  against  life  and  fate  rose  hotly,  unsubdued  within 
him.  He  turned  to  leave  her,  but  she  called  him  back, 
in  a  soft,  hesitating  tone  that  brought  back  the  days  of 
their  first  intercourse.  When  he  looked  round  he  saw 
that  she  was  pale  and  agitated. 

"  Monsieur!"  she  stammered,  and  seemed  afraid  of  her 
own  voice;  and  all  at  once  a  wild  stirring  of  hope  set  his 
heart  beating. 

"What  is  it?  Won't  you  tell  me?"  he  said;  and 
again  she  tried  to  speak  and  broke  off,  then  caught  her 
courage  and  went  on. 

"Oh,  Monsieur,  if  you  would  do  something!" 

"Why,  what  is  it  you  want  me  to  do,  child?" 

That  was  almost  his  old  kind  look,  and  it  emboldened 
her.  She  rose  and  leaned  towards  him,  clasping  her 
hands. 

"Oh,  Monsieur,  you  have  influence — "  and  at  that 
his  brow  darkened. 

"Whatisit?"hesaid. 

"I  heard — I  heard — "  She  stopped  in  confusion. 
"Oh!  it  is  my  friend.  Marguerite  de  Matigny.  Her 
grandmother  is  dead,  and  she  is  alone.  Monsieur,  she 
is  only  seventeen,  and  such  a  pretty  child,  so  gay,  and 
she  has  done  no  harm  to  any  one.  It  is  impossible 
that  she  could  do  any  harm." 

"  I  thought  you  had  no  friends?" 

"No,  I  had  none;  but  in  the  prison  they  were  good  to 
me — all  of  them.  Old  Madame  de  Matigny  knew  my 
parents,  and  welcomed  me  for  their  sakes;  but  Mar- 


A  Royalist  Plot  241 

guerite  I  loved.  She  was  like  a  kitten,  all  soft  and 
caressing.  Monsieur,  if  you  could  see  her,  so  little,  and 
pretty — just  a  child!"  Her  eyes  implored  him,  but 
his  were  shadowed  by  frowning  brows. 

"Is  that  what  the  priest  told  you  to  say?"  he  asked 
harshly. 

"The  priest " 

"You  'd  lie  to  me, "  he  broke  out,  and  stopped  himself. 
"Do  you  think  I  didn't  recognise  the  look,  the  tone? 
Did  he  put  words  into  your  mouth?" 

Her  eyes  filled. 

"He  told  me  about  Marguerite,"  she  said  simply. 
"He  told  me  she  was  alone,  and  it  came  into  my  heart 
to  ask  you  to  help  her.     I  have  no  one  to  ask  but  you. " 

The  voice,  the  child's  look  would  have  disarmed  him, 
but  the  words  he  had  overheard  came  back,  and  made 
his  torment. 

"  If  it  came  into  your  heart,  I  know  who  put  it  there, " 
he  said.  "And  what  else  came  with  it?  What  else 
were  you  to  do?  Do  you  forget  I  overheard?  If 
I  thought  you  had  lent  yourself  to  be  a  tool,  to  influence, 
to  bribe — ^mon  Dieu,  if  I  thought  that " 

"Monsieur!"  but  the  soft,  agitated  protest  fell  un- 
heard. 

"I  should  kill  you — yes,  I  think  that  I  should  kill 
you,"  he  said  in  a  cold,  level  voice. 

She  moved  a  step  towards  him  then,  and  if  her  voice 
had  trembled,  her  eyes  were  clear  and  untroubled  as 
they  met  his  full. 

"You  shall  not  need  to,"  she  said  quietly,  and  there 
was  a  long  pause. 

It  was  he  who  looked  away  at  last,  and  then  she 
spoke. 

"  I  asked  you  at  no  one's  prompting, "  she  said  softly. 
16 


242       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"See,  Monsieur,  let  there  be  truth  between  us.  That 
at  least  I  can  give,  and  will — yes,  always.  He,  the  man 
you  saw,  asked  me  to  help  him,  to  help  others,  and  I 
told  him  no,  my  hands  were  tied.  If  he  had  asked  for 
ever,  I  must  still  have  said  the  same  thing;  and  if  it 
had  cut  my  heart  in  two,  I  would  still  have  said  it.  But 
about  Marguerite,  that  was  different.  She  knows  noth- 
ing of  any  plots,  she  is  no  conspirator.  I  would  not  ask, 
if  it  touched  your  honour.     I  would  not  indeed. " 

"Are  you  sure?"  he  asked  in  a  strange  voice,  and 
she  answered  his  question  with  another. 

"Would  you  have  pledged  your  honour  if  you  had  not 
been  sure?" 

He  gave  a  short,  hard  laugh. 

"Upon  my  soul,  child,  I  think  so,"  he  said,  and  the 
colour  ran  blazing  to  her  face. 

"Oh,  Monsieur,  I  keep  faith!"  she  cried  in  a  voice  that 
came  from  her  heart. 

Her  outstretched  hands  came  near  to  touching  him, 
and  he  turned  away  with  a  sudden  wrench  of  his  whole 
body. 

"And  it  is  hard — yes,  hard  enough,"  he  said  bitterly, 
and  went  out  with  a  mist  before  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A   NEW    ENVIRONMENT 

MADELON  PINEL  stood  by  the  window  of  the  inn 
parlour,  and  looked  out  with  round  shining  eyes. 
She  was  in  a  state  of  pleasing  excitement,  and  her  comely 
cheeks  vied  in  colour  with  the  carnation  riband  in  her 
cap,  for  this  was  her  first  jaunt  with  her  husband  since 
their  marriage,  and  an  expedition  from  quiet  Rancy  to 
the  eight-miles-distant  market- town  was  a  dissipation  of 
the  most  agreeable  nature.  The  inn  looked  out  on  the 
small,  crowded  Place,  where  a  great  traffic  of  buying  and 
selling,  of  cheapening  and  haggling  was  in  process,  and 
she  chafed  with  impatience  for  her  husband  to  finish  his 
wine,  and  take  her  out  into  the  thick  of  it  again.  He, 
good  man,  miller  by  the  flour  on  his  broad  shoulders, 
stood  at  his  ease  beside  her,  smiling  broadly.  No  one, 
he  considered,  could  behold  him  without  envy;  for 
Madelon  was  the  acknowledged  belle  of  the  countryside, 
and  well  dowered  into  the  bargain.  Altogether,  a  man 
very  pleased  with  life,  and  full  of  pride  in  his  married 
state,  as  he  lounged  beside  his  pretty  wife,  and  drank 
his  wine,  one  arm  round  her  neat  waist. 

With  a  roll  and  a  flourish  the  diligence  drew  up, 
and  Madelon's  excitement  grew. 

"  Ah ,  my  friend,  look — look ! ' '  she  cried.  ' '  There  will 
i  243 


244       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

be  passengers  from  Paris.  Oh!  I  hope  it  is  full.  No — 
what  a  pity!  There  are  only  four.  See  then,  Jean 
Jacques,  the  fat  old  man  with  the  nose.  It  is  redder 
than  Gargoulet's  and  one  would  have  said  that  was 
impossible.  And  the  little  man  like  a  rat.  Fie!  he 
has  a  wicked  eye,  that  one — I  declare  he  winked  at  me  " ; . 
and  she  drew  back,  darting  a  virtuously  coquettish  glance 
at  the  unperturbed  Jean  Jacques. 

"Not  he,"  he  observed  with  complete  tranquillity. 
"Calm  thyself,  Madelon.  Thou  art  no  longer  the 
prettiest  girl  in  Rancy,  but  a  sober  matron.  Thy  wink- 
ing days  are  over." 

"  My  winking  days!"  exclaimed  Madelon, — "my  wink- 
ing days  indeed!"  She  tossed  her  head  with  feigned 
displeasure  and  leaned  out  again,  wide-eyed. 

A  third  passenger  had  just  alighted,  and  stood  by  the 
door  of  the  diligence  holding  out  a  hand  to  some  one  yet 
unseen. 

"Seigneur!"  cried  Madelon  maliciously;  "look  there, 
Jean  Jacques,  if  that  is  not  a  fine  man!" 

"What,  the  rat?"  grinned  the  miller. 

"No,  stupid! — the  handsome  man  by  the  door  there, 
he  with  the  tricolour  sash.  Ciel!  what  a  sash!  What 
can  he  be,  then, — a  Deputy,  thinkest  thou?  Oh,  I 
hope  he  is  a  Deputy.  There,  now  there  is  a  woman 
getting  out — he  helps  her  down,  and  now  he  turns 
this  way.  They  are  coming  in.  Eh!  what  blue 
eyes  he  has!  Well,  I  would  not  have  him  angry 
with  me,  that  one;  I  should  think  his  eyes  would 
scorch  like  lightning." 

"Eh,  Madelon,  how  you  talk!" 

"There,  they  are  on  the  step.  Hold  me  then,  Jean 
Jacques,  or  I  shall  fall.  Do  you  think  the  woman  is  his 
wife?     How  white  she  is! — but  quite  young,  not  older 


A  New  Environment  245 

than  I.  And  her  hair — oh,  but  that  is  pretty!  I  wish  I 
had  hair  like  that — all  gold  in  the  sun." 

"Thy  hair  is  well  enough,"  said  the  enamoured  Jean 
Jacques.  "There,  come  back  a  little,  Madelon,  or  thou 
wilt  fall  out.     They  are  coming  in. " 

Madelon  turned  from  the  window  to  watch  the  door, 
and  in  a  minute  Dangeau  and  Aline  came  in.  For  a 
moment  Aline  looked  timidly  round,  then  seeing  the 
pleasant  face  and  shining  brown  eyes  of  the  miller's 
wife,  she  made  her  way  gratefully  towards  her,  and 
sat  down  on  the  rough  bench  which  ran  along  the 
wall.  Madelon  disengaged  herself  from  her  husband's 
arm,  gave  him  a  little  push  in  Dangeau's  direction, 
and  sat  down  too,  asking  at  once,  with  a  stare  of  frank 
curiosity : 

"You  are  from  Paris?     All  the  way  from  Paris?" 

"Yes,  from  Paris,"  said  Aline  rather  wearily. 

"Ciel!  That  is  a  distance  to  come.  Are  you  not 
tired?" 

"Just  a  little,  perhaps." 

"Paris  is  a  big  place,  is  it  not?  I  have  never  been 
there,  but  my  father  has.  He  left  the  inn  for  a  month 
last  year,  and  went  to  Paris,  and  saw  all  the  sights.  Yes, 
he  went  to  the  Convention  Hall,  and  heard  the  Deputies 
speak.  Would  any  one  believe  there  were  so  many  of 
them?  Four  hundred  and  more,  he  said.  Every  one 
did  not  believe  him, — Gargoulet  even  laughed,  and  spat 
on  the  floor, — but  my  father  is  a  very  truthful  man,  and 
not  at  all  boastful.  He  would  not  say  such  a  thing 
unless  he  had  seen  it,  for  he  does  not  believe  everything 
that  he  is  told — oh  no!  For  my  part,  I  believed  him, 
and  Jean  Jacques  too.  But  imagine  then,  four  hundred 
Deputies  all  making  speeches!" 

Aline  could  not  help  laughing. 


246      A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Yes,  I  believe  there  are  quite  as  many  as  that.  My 
husband  is  one  of  them,  you  know." 

"  Seigneur ! ' '  exclaimed  Madelon.  ' *  I  said  so.  Where 
is  that  great  stupid  of  mine?  I  said  the  Citizen  was  a 
Deputy — at  once  I  said  it!" 

"Why,  how  did  you  guess?" 

**0h,  by  the  fine  tricolour  sash,"  said  Madelon 
naively;  "and  then  there  is  a  look  about  him,  is  there 
not?  Do  you  not  think  he  has  the  air  of  being  a  Deputy?  " 

**I  do  not  know,"  said  Aline,  smiling. 

*'Well,  I  think  so.  And  now  I  will  tell  you  another 
thing  I  said.  I  said  that  he  could  be  angry,  and  that 
then  I  should  not  like  to  meet  his  eyes,  they  would  be 
like  blue  fire.     Is  that  true  too?" 

Aline  was  amused  by  the  girl's  confiding  chatter. 

**I  do  not  think  he  is  often  angry,"  she  said. 

**Ah,  but  when  he  is,"  and  Madelon  nodded  airily. 
"Those  that  are  angry  often — oh,  well,  one  gets  used  to 
it,  and  in  the  end  one  takes  no  notice.  It  is  like  a 
kettle  that  goes  on  boiling  until  at  last  the  water  is  all 
boiled  away.  But  when  one  is  like  the  Citizen  Deputy, 
not  angry  often— oh,  then  that  can  be  terrible,  when  it 
comes!     I  should  think  he  was  like  that. " 

"Perhaps,"  said  Aline,  still  smiling,  but  with  a  little 
contraction  of  the  heart,  as  she  remembered  anger  she 
had  roused  and  faced.  It  did  not  frighten  her,  but  it 
made  her  heart  beat  fast,  and  had  a  strange  fascination 
for  her  now.  Sometimes  she  even  surprised  a  longing 
to  heap  fuel  on  the  fire,  to  make  it  blaze  high — high 
enough  to  melt  the  ice  in  which  she  had  encased  herself. 

Then  her  own  thought  startled  her,  and  she  turned 
quickly  to  her  companion. 

"Is  that  your  husband?"  she  asked,  for  the  sake  of 
saying  something. 


A  New  Environment  247 

"Yes,  indeed/'  said  Madelon.  "He  is  a  fine  man,  is 
he  not?  He  and  the  Citizen  Deputy  are  talking  to- 
gether. They  seem  to  have  plenty  to  say — one  would  say 
they  were  old  friends.  Yes,  that  is  my  Jean  Jacques; 
he  is  the  miller  of  Rancy-les-Bois.  We  have  travelled 
too,  for  Rancy  is  eight  miles  from  here,  and  a  road  to 
break  your  heart." 

"From  Rancy — you  come  from  Rancy?"  said  Aline, 
with  a  little,  soft,  surprised  sound. 

"Yes,  from  Rancy.  Did  I  not  say  my  father  kept  the 
inn  there?  But  I  have  been  married  two  months  now"; 
and  she  twisted  her  wedding  ring  proudly. 

"I  am  going  to  Rancy,"  said  Aline  on  the  impulse. 

"You,  Citoyenne?"  and  Madelon's  brown  eyes  became 
completely  round  with  surprise. 

Aline  nodded.  She  liked  this  girl  with  the  light 
tongue  and  honest  red  cheeks.  It  was  pleasant  to  talk 
to  her  after  four  hours  of  tense  silence,  during  the  most 
part  of  which  she  had  feigned  sleep,  and  even  then  had 
been  aware  of  Dangeau's  eyes  upon  her  face. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "Does  that  surprise  you  so  much? 
My  husband  goes  South  on  mission,  and  I  am  to  stay 
with  his  aunts  at  Rancy.  They  have  written  to  say  that 
I  am  welcome." 

"Oh!"  cried  Madelon  quickly.  "Then  I  know  who 
you  are.  Stupid  that  I  am,  not  to  have  guessed  before! 
All  the  world  knows  that  the  Citoyennes  Desaix  have  a 
nephew  who  is  a  Deputy,  and  you  must  be  his  wife — you 
must  be  the  Citoyenne  Dangeau." 

"Yes,"  said  Aline. 

"To  be  sure,  if  I  had  seen  the  Citoyenne  Ange,  she 
would  have  told  me  yoU  were  coming ;  but  it  is  ten  days 
since  I  saw  her  to  speak  to — there  has  been  so  much  to 
do  in  the  house.    She  will  be  pleased  to  have  you.     Both 


248       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

of  them  will  be  pleased.  If  they  are  proud  of  the 
nephew  who  is  a  Deputy — Seigneur!"  and  Madelon's 
plump  brown  hands  were  waved  high  and  wide  to  express 
the  pride  of  Dangeau's  aunts. 

"Yes?"  said  Aline  again. 

"But  of  course.  It  is  a  fine  thing  nowadays,  a  very 
fine  thing  indeed.  All  the  world  would  turn  out  to  look 
at  him  if  he  came  to  Rancy.  What  a  pity  he  must  go 
South!     Have  you  been  married  long?" 

Aline  was  vexed  to  feel  the  colour  rise  to  her  cheeks 
as  she  answered  : 

"No— not  long." 

"And  already  he  must  leave  you!  That  is  hard — yes, 
I  find  that  very  hard.  If  Jean  Jacques  were  to  go  away, 
I  should  certainly  be  inconsolable.  Before  one  is  married 
it  is  different;  one  has  a  light  heart,  one  is  quick  to 
forget.  If  a  man  goes,  one  does  not  care — there  are 
always  plenty  more.  But  when  one  is  married,  then 
it  is  another  story;  then  there  is  something  that  hurts 
one  at  the  heart  when  they  are  not  there — n'est- 
ce  pas?" 

Aline  turned  a  tell-tale  face  away,  and  Madelon  edged 
a  little  nearer. 

"Later  on,  again,  they  say  one  does  not  mind  so  much. 
There  are  the  children,  you  see,  and  that  makes  all  the 
difference.  For  me,  I  hope  for  a  boy — a  strong,  fat  boy 
like  Marie  my  sister-in-law  had  last  year.  Ah!  that 
was  a  boy!  and  I  hope  mine  will  be  just  such  another. 
If  one  has  a  girl,  one  feels  as  if  one  had  committed 
a  bdtise,  do  you  not  think  so? — or" — with  a  polite 
glance  at  the  averted  face — "perhaps  you  desire  a  girl, 
Citoyenne?" 

Aline  felt  an  unbearable  heat  assail  her,  for  suddenly 
her  old  dream  flashed  into  her  mind,  and  she  saw  herself 


A  New  Environment  249 

with  a  child  in  her  arms — a  wailing,  starving  child  with 
sad  blue  eyes.  With  an  indistinct  murmur  she  started 
up  and  moved  a  step  or  two  towards  the  door,  and  as  she 
did  so,  Dangeau  nodded  briefly  to  the  miller,  and  came  to 
meet  her. 

"We  are  fortunate,"  he  said, — "really  very  fortunate. 
These  worthy  people  are  the  miller  of  Rancy  and  his 
wife,  as  no  doubt  she  has  told  you.  I  saw  you  were 
talking  together." 

"Yes,  it  is  strange,"  said  Aline. 

"  Nothing  could  have  been  more  convenient,  since  they 
willi  be  able  to  take  you  to  my  aunt's  very  door.  I  have 
spoken  to  the  miller,  and  he  is  very  willing.  Nothing 
could  have  fallen  out  better." 

"And  you?"  faltered  Aline,  her  eyes  on  the  ground. 

"I  go  on  at  once.  You  know  my  orders — 'to  lose  no 
time. '  If  it  had  been  necessary,  I  should  have  taken  you 
to  Rancy,  but  as  it  turns  out  I  have  no  excuse  for  not 
going  on  at  once." 

"At  once? "  she  repeated  in  a  little  voice  like  a  child's. 

He  nodded,  and  walked  to  the  window,  where  he  stood 
looking  out  for  a  moment. 

"The  horses  are  in,"  he  said,  turning  again.  "It  is 
time  I  took  my  seat." 

He  passed  out,  saluting  Pinel  and  Madelon,  who  was 
much  elated  by  his  bow. 

Aline  followed  him  into  the  square,  and  saw  that  the 
other  two  passengers  were  in  their  places.  Her  heart 
had  begun  to  beat  so  violently  that  she  thought  it  im- 
possible that  he  should  not  hear  it,  but  he  only  threw  her 
a  grave,  cold  look. 

"You  will  like  perhaps  to  know  that  your  friend's  case 
came  on  yesterday  and  that  she  was  set  free.  There  was 
nothing  against  her,"  he  said,  with  some  constraint. 


250       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Marguerite?" 

"Yes,  the  Citoyenne  Matigny.  She  is  free.  I  thought 
you  would  be  glad  to  know." 

"Yes — yes — oh,  thank  you!     I  am  glad!" 

"You  will  tell  my  aunts  that  my  business  was  press- 
ing, or  I  shoiild  have  visited  them.  Give  them  my 
greetings.     They  will  be  good  to  you." 

"Yes — the  letter  was  kind. " 

"They  are  good  women."  He  handed  her  a  folded 
paper.  "This  is  my  direction.  Keep  it  carefully,  and 
if  you  need  anything,  or  are  in  any  trouble,  you  will 
write."  His  voice  made  it  an  order,  not  a  request,  and 
she  winced. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  with  stiff  lips. 

Dangeau's  face  grew  harder.  If  it  were  only  over, 
this  parting !  He  craved  for  action — longed  to  be  away 
— to  be  quit  of  this  intolerable  strain.  He  had  kept 
his  word,  he  had  assured  her  safety,  let  him  be  gone  out 
of  her  life,  into  such  a  life  as  a  man  might  make  for 
himself,  in  the  tumult  and  flame  of  war. 

"Seigneur!"  said  Madelon,  at  the  window.  "See, 
Jean  Jacques," — and  she  nudged  that  patient  man, — 
"see  how  he  looks  at  her!  Ma  foi,  I  am  glad  it  is  not  I ! 
And  with  a  face  as  if  it  had  been  cut  out  of  stone,  and 
there  he  gets  in  without  so  much  as  a  touch  of  the  hand, 
let  alone  a  kiss !     Is  this  the  way  of  it  in  Paris?  " 

"Thou  must  still  be  talking,  Madelon,"  said  Jean 
Jacques,  complacently. 

"Well,  I  should  not  like  it,"  shrugged  Madelon 
pettishly. 

"No,  I'll  warrant  you  wouldn't,"  said  the  miller, 
with  a  grin  and  a  hearty  kiss. 

At  four  o'clock  the  business  and  pleasure  of  the 
market-day  were  over,  and  the  folk  began  to  jog  home 


A  New  Environment  251 

again.  Aline  sat  beside  Madelon  on  the  empty  meal- 
sacks,  and  looked  about  her  with  a  vague  curiosity  as 
they  made  their  way  through  the  poplar- bordered  lanes, 
bumping  prodigiously  every  now  and  then,  in  a  manner 
that  testified  to  the  truth  of  Madelon's  description  of  the 
road. 

It  was  one  of  the  days  that  seems  to  have  drawn  out 
all  summer's  beauty,  whilst  keeping  yet  faint  memories 
of  spring,  and  hinting  in  its  breadth  of  evening  shade 
at  autumn's  mellowness. 

Madelon  chattered  all  the  way,  but  Aline's  thoughts 
were  too  busy  to  be  distracted.  She  thought  continu- 
ally of  the  smouldering  South  and  its  dangers,  of  the 
thousand  perils  that  menaced  Dangeau,  and  of  the  bitter 
hardness  of  his  face  as  he  turned  from  her  at  the 
last. 

Jean  Jacques  let  the  reins  fall  loose  after  a  while, 
and  turning  at  his  ease,  slipped  his  arm  about  his  wife's 
waist  and  drew  her  head  to  his  shoulder.  Aline's  eyes 
smarted  with  sudden  tears.  Here  were  two  happy 
people,  here  was  love  and  home,  and  she  out  in  the  cold, 
barred  out  by  a  barrier  of  her  own  raising.  Oh!  if  he 
had  only  looked  kindly  at  the  last! — if  he  had  smiled, 
or  taken  her  hand! 

They  came  over  the  brow  of  a  little  hill,  and  dipped 
towards  the  wooded  pocket  where  Rancy  lay,  among  its 
trees,  watched  from  half-way  up  the  hill  by  an  old  grey 
stone  chateau,  on  the  windows  of  which  the  setting  sun 
shone  fiill,  showing  them  broken  and  dusty. 

"Who  lives  in  the  chateau?"  asked  Aline  suddenly. 

**  No  one — now, "  returned  Jean  Jacques;  and  Madelon 
broke  in  quickly. 

"It  was  the  chateau  of  the  Montenay  but  a  year  ago. 
— Now  why  dost  thou  nudge  me,  Jeanjacques? — A  year 


252       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

ago,  I  say,  it  was  pillaged.  Not  by  our  own  people,  but 
by  a  mob  from  the  town.  They  broke  the  windows  and 
the  furniture,  and  hunted  high  and  low  for  traitors,  and 
then  went  back  again  to  where  they  came  from.  There 
was  nobody  there,  so  not  much  harm  done." 

"De  Montenay?"  said  Aline  in  a  low  voice.  How 
strange!  So  this  was  why  the  name  of  Rancy  had 
seemed  familiar  from  the  first.  They  were  of  her  kin, 
the  De  Montenay. 

"Yes,  the  De  Montenay,"  said  Madelon,  nodding. 
"They  were  great  folk  once,  and  now  there  is  only  the 
old  Marquise  left,  and  she  has  emigrated.  She  is  very 
old  now,  but  do  you  know  they  say  the  De  Montenay 
can  only  die  here?  However  ill  they  are  in  a  foreign 
place,  the  spirit  cannot  pass,  and  I  always  wonder  will 
the  old  Marquise  come  back,  for  she  is  a  Montenay  by 
birth  as  well  as  by  marriage?" 

"Eh,  Madelon,  how  you  talk!"  said  Jean  Jacques, 
with  an  uneasy  lift  of  his  floury  shoulders.  He  picked 
up  the  reins  and  flicked  the  mare's  plump  sides  with  a 
"Come up,  Suzette;  it  grows  late." 

Madelon  tossed  her  head. 

"It  is  true,  all  the  same,"  she  protested.  "Why, 
there  was  M.  Rene, — all  the  world  knows  how  she 
brought  M.  Rene  here  to  die." 

"Chut  then,  Madelon!"  said  the  miller,  in  a  decided 
tone  this  time;  and,  as  she  pouted,  he  spoke  over  his 
shoulder  in  a  low  voice,  and  Aline  caught  the  words, 
"Ma'mselle  Ange, "  whereon  Madelon  promptly  echoed 
"Ma'mselle"  with  a  teasing  inflexion. 

Jean  Jacques  became  angry,  and  the  back  of  his  neck 
seemed  to  well  over  the  collar  of  his  blouse,  turning 
very  red  as  it  did  so. 

"  Tiens,  Citoyenne  Ange,  then.     Can  a  man  remember 


A  New  Environment  253 

all  the  time?"  he  growled,  and  flicked  Suzette  again. 
Madelon  looked  penitent. 

"No,  no,  my  friend,"  she  said  soothingly;  "and  the 
Citoyenne  here  understands  well  enough,  I  am  sure. 
It  is  that  my  father  is  so  good  a  patriot, "  she  explained, 
"and  he  grows  angry  if  one  says  Monsieur,  Madame,  or 
Mademoiselle  any  more.  It  must  be  Citizen  and 
Citoyenne  to  please  him,  because  we  are  all  equal  now. 
And  Jean  Jacques  is  quite  as  good  a  patriot  as  my 
father — oh,  quite;  but  it  is,  see  you,  a  little  hard  to 
remember  always,  for  after  all  he  has  been  saying  the 
other  for  nearly  forty  years." 

"Yes,  it  is  hard  always  to  remember,"  Aline  agreed. 

They  came  down  into  the  shadow  under  the  hill,  and 
turned  into  the  village  street.  The  little  houses  lay  all 
a-str aggie  along  it,  with  the  inn  about  half-way  down. 
Madelon  pointed  out  this  cottage  and  that,  named  the 
neighbours,  and  informed  Aline  how  many  children  they 
had.  Jean  Jacques  did  not  make  any  contribution  to 
the  talk  until  they  were  clear  of  the  houses,  when  he 
raised  his  whip,  and  pointing  ahead,  said: 

"Now  we  are  almost  there — see,  that  is  the  house, 
the  white  one  amongst  those  trees";  and  in  a  moment 
Aline  realised  that  she  was  nervous,  and  would  be  very 
thankful  when  the  meeting  with  Dangeau's  aunts  should 
be  over.  Even  as  she  tried  to  summon  her  courage,  the 
cart  drew  up  at  the  little  white  gate,  and  she  found 
herself  being  helped  down,  whilst  Madelon  pressed  her 
hands  and  promised  to  come  and  see  her  soon. 

"The  Citoyenne  Ange  knows  me  well  enough,"  she 
said,  laughing.  "She  taught  me  to  read,  and  tried  to 
make  me  wise,  but  it  was  too  hard. " 

"There,  there,  come,  Madelon.  It  is  late,"  said  the 
miller.   " Good  evening,  Citoyenne.   Come  up,  Suzette"; 


2  54       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

and  in  a  moment  Aline  was  alone,  with  her  modest 
bundle  by  her  side.  She  opened  the  gate,  and  found 
herself  in  a  very  pretty  garden.  The  evening  light 
slanted  across  the  roof  of  the  small  white  house,  which 
stood  back  from  the  road  with  a  modest  air.  It  had 
green  shutters  to  every  window,  and  green  creepers 
pushed  aspiring  tendrils  everywhere.  The  garden  was 
all  aflash  with  summer,  and  the  air  fragrant  with  laven- 
der, a  tall  hedge  of  which  presented  a  surface  of  dim, 
sweet  greenery,  and  dimmer,  sweeter  bloom.  Behind 
the  lavender  was  a  double  row  of  tall  dark-eyed  sun- 
flowers, and  in  front  blazed  rose  and  purple  phlox, 
carnations  white  and  red,  late  larkspur,  and  gilly- 
flowers. 

Such  a  feast  of  colour  had  not  been  spread  before 
Aline's  town-wearied  eyes  for  many  and  many  a  long 
month,  and  the  beauty  of  it  came  into  her  heart  like  the 
breath  of  some  strong  cordial.  At  the  open  door  of  the 
house  were  two  large  myrtle  trees  in  tubs.  The  white 
flowers  stood  thick  amongst  the  smooth  dark  leaves,  and 
scented  all  the  air  with  their  sweetness.  Aline  set  down 
her  bundle,  and  went  in,  hesitating,  and  a  murmur  of 
voices  directing  her,  she  turned  to  the  right. 

It  was  dark  after  the  evening  glow  outside,  but  the 
light  shone  through  an  open  door,  and  she  made  her  way 
to  it,  and  stood  looking  in,  upon  a  small  narrow  room, 
very  barely  furnished  as  to  tables  and  chairs,  but  most 
completely  filled  with  children  of  all  ages. 

They  sat  in  rows,  some  on  the  few  chairs,  some  on  the 
floor,  and  some  on  the  laps  of  the  elder  ones.  Here  and 
there  a  tiny  baby  dozed  in  the  lap  of  an  older  girl,  but 
for  the  most  part  they  were  from  three  years  old  and 
upwards. 

All  had  clean,  shining  faces,  and  on  the  front  of  each 


A  New  Environment  255 

child's  dress  was  pinned  a  tricolour  bow,  whilst  on  the 
large  comer  table  stood  a  coarse  pottery  jar  stuffed  full 
of  white  Margaret  daisies,  scarlet  poppies,  and  bright 
blue  cornflowers.  Aline  frowned  a  little  impatiently 
and  tapped  with  her  foot  on  the  floor,  but  no  one  took 
any  notice.  A  tall  lady  with  her  back  to  the  door  was 
apparently  concluding  a  tale  to  which  all  the  children 
listened  spellbound. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  Aline  heard  her  say,  in  a  full  pleasant 
voice, — "yes,  indeed,  children,  the  dragon  was  most 
dreadfully  fierce  and  wicked.  His  eyes  shot  out  sparks, 
hot  like  the  sparks  at  the  forge,  and  flames  ran  out  of  his 
mouth  so  that  all  the  ground  was  scorched,  and  the  grass 
died. — Jeanne  Marie,  thou  little  foolish  one,  there  is  no 
need  to  cry.  Have  courage,  and  take  Amelie's  hand. 
The  brave  youth  will  not  be  harmed,  because  of  the 
magic  sword. — It  was  all  very  well  for  the  dragon  to 
spit  fire  at  him,  but  he  could  not  make  him  afraid.  No, 
indeed!  He  raised  the  great  sword  in  both  hands,  and 
struck  at  the  monster.  At  the  first  blow  the  earth 
shook,  and  the  sea  roared.  At  the  second  blow  the 
clouds  fell  down  out  of  the  sky,  and  all  the  wild  beasts 
of  the  woods  roared  horribly,  but  at  the  third  blow  the 
dragon's  head  was  cut  clean  off,  and  he  fell  down  dead  at 
the  hero's  feet.  Then  the  chains  that  were  on  the 
wrists  and  ankles  of  the  lovely  lady  vanished  away,  and 
she  ran  into  the  hero's  arms,  free  and  beautiful." 

A  long  sigh  went  up  from  the  rows  of  children,  and 
one  said  regretfully : 

"Is  that  all,  Citoyenne?" 

"That  is  all  the  story,  my  children;  but  now  I  shall 
ask  questions.  Felicity,  say  then,  who  is  the  young 
hero?" 

A  big,  sharp-eyed  girl  looked  up,  and  said  in  a  quick 


256       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

sing-song,  "He  is  the  glorious  Revolution  and  the 
dragon." 

"Chut  then, — I  asked  only  for  the  hero.  It  is  Can- 
dide  who  shall  tell  us  who  is  the  dragon." 

Every  one  looked  at  Candide,  who,  for  her  part,  looked 
at  the  ceiling,  as  if  seeking  inspiration  there. 

"The  dragon  is— is " 

"Come  then,  my  child,  thou  knowest. " 

"Is  he  not  a  dragon,  then?"  said  Candide,  opening 
eyes  as  blue  as  the  sky,  and  quite  as  devoid  of  intelli- 
gence. 

"Little  stupid  one, — and  the  times  I  have  told  thee! 
What  is  it,  then,  that  the  glorious  Revolution  has 
destroyed?" 

She  paused,  and  half  a  dozen  arms  went  up  eagerly, 
whilst  as  many  voices  clamoured : 

"I  know!"— "No,  ask  me!"— "No,  me,  Citoyenne!" 
—"No,  me!"— "Me!" 

"What!  Jeanne  knows?  Little  Jeanne  Marie,  who 
cried?  She  shall  say.  Tell  us,  then,  my  child, — who  is 
the  dragon?" 

Jeanne  looked  wonderfully  serious. 

"  It  is  the  tyranny  of  kings,  is  it  not,  ch^re  Citoyenne?  " 

"Very  good,  little  one.  And  the  lovely  lady,  who  is 
the  lovely  lady?" 

"France — our  beautiful  France!"  cried  all  the  children 
together. 

Aline  pushed  the  door  quite  wide  and  stepped  forward, 
and  as  she  came  into  view  all  the  children  became  as 
quiet  as  mice,  staring,  and  nudging  one  another. 

At  this,  and  the  slight  rustle  of  Aline's  dress,  Ange 
Desaix  turned  round,  and  uttered  a  cry  of  surprise. 
She  was  a  tall  woman,  soft  and  ample  of  arm  and  bosom, 
with  dark,  silvered  hair  laid  in  classic  fashion  about  a 


A  New  Environment  257 

very  nobly  shaped  head.  Her  skin  was  very  white 
and  soft,  and  her  hazel  eyes  had  a  curious  misty  look, 
like  the  hollows  of  a  hill  brimmed  with  a  weeping  haze 
that  never  quite  falls  in  rain.  They  were  brooding 
eyes,  and  very  peaceful,  and  they  seemed  to  look  right 
through  Aline  and  away  to  some  place  of  dreams  be- 
yond. All  this  was  the  impression  of  a  moment — 
this,  and  the  fact  that  the  tall  figure  was  all  in  white, 
with  a  large  breast-knot  of  the  same  three-coloured 
flowers  as  stood  in  the  jar.  Then  the  motherly  arms 
were  round  Aline,  at  once  comfortable  and  appealing, 
and  Mile  Desaix'  voice  said  caressingly,  "My  dear 
niece,  a  thousand  welcomes!" 

After  a  moment  she  was  quietly  released,  and  Ange 
Desaix  turned  to  the  children. 

"Away  with  you,  little  ones-  and  come  again  to- 
morrow. Louise  and  Marthe  must  give  up  their  bows, 
but  the  rest  can  keep  them." 

The  indescribable  hubbub  of  a  party  of  children 
preparing  for  departure  arose,  and  Ange  said  smilingly, 
"We  are  late  to-day,  but  on  market-day  some  are  from 
home,  and  like  to  know  the  children  are  safe  with  me." 

As  she  spoke  a  little  procession  formed  itself.  Each 
child  passed  before  Mile  Desaix,  and  received  a  kiss 
and  a  smile.  Two  little  girls  looked  very  downcast. 
They  sniffed  loudly  as  they  unpinned  their  ribbon  bows 
and  gave  them  up. 

"Another  time  you  will  be  wise,"  said  Ange  con- 
solingly; and  Louise  and  Marthe  went  out  hanging 
their  heads. 

"  They  chattered,  instead  of  listening, "  explained  Mile 
Desaix.  "I  do  not  like  punishments,  but  what  will 
you?  If  children  do  not  learn  self-control,  they  grow 
up  so  unhappy." 


258       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

There  was  an  alluring  simplicity  in  voice  and  manner 
that  touched  the  child  in  Aline.  To  her  own  surprise 
she  felt  her  eyes  fill  with  tears — not  the  hot  drops 
which  burn  and  sting,  but  the  pleasant  water  of  sym- 
pathy, which  refreshes  the  tired  soul.  On  the  impulse 
she  said: 

"It  is  good  of  you  to  let  me  come  here.  I — I  am 
very  grateful,  chdre  Mademoiselle." 

Ange  put  a  hand  on  her  arm. 

"You  will  say  'ma  tante,'  will  you  not,  dear  child? 
Our  nephew  is  dear  to  us,  and  we  welcome  his  wife. 
Come  then  and  see  Marthe.  She  suffers  much,  my 
poor  Marthe,  and  the  children's  chatter  is  too  much 
for  her,  so  I  do  not  take  them  into  her  room,  except 
now  and  then.  She  likes  to  see  little  Jeanne  sometimes, 
and  Candide,  the  little  blue-eyed  one.  Marthe  says  she 
is  like  Nature — unconsciously  stupid — and  she  finds  that 
refreshing,  since  like  Nature  she  is  so  beautiful.  But 
there,  the  child  is  well  enough — we  cannot  all  be  clever. " 

Mile  Desaix  led  the  way  through  the  hall  and  up  a 
narrow  stair  as  she  spoke.  Outside  a  door  on  the 
landing  above  she  paused. 

"But  where,  then,  is  Jacques — the  dear  Jacques?" 

"After  all  he  could  not  come,"  said  Aline.  "His 
orders  were  so  strict, — 'to  press  on  without  any  delay,* 
— and  if  he  had  lost  the  diligence,  it  would  have  kept 
him  twenty-four  hours.  He  charged  me  with  many 
messages." 

"Ah,"  said  Mile  Ange,  "it  will  be  a  grief  to  Marthe. 
I  told  her  all  the  time  that  perhaps  he  would  not  be 
able  to  come,  but  she  counted  on  it.  But  of  course, 
my  dear,  we  understand  that  his  duty  must  come 
first — only,"  with  a  sigh,  "it  will  disappoint  my  poor 
Marthe." 


A  New  Environment  259 

She  opened  the  door  as  she  spoke,  and  they  came 
into  a  room  all  in  the  dark  except  for  the  afterglow 
which  filled  the  wide,  square  window.  A  bed  or  couch 
was  drawn  up  to  the  open  casement,  and  Aline  took  a 
quick  breath,  for  the  profile  which  was  relieved  against 
the  light  was  startlingly  like  Dangeau's  as  she  had  seen 
it  at  the  coach  window  that  morning. 

Ange  drew  her  forward. 

"See  then,  Marthe,"  she  said,  "our  new  niece  is 
come,  but  alas,  Jacques  was  not  able  to  spare  the  time. 
Business  of  the  Republic  that  could  not  wait. " 

Marthe  Desaix  turned  her  head  with  a  sharp  move- 
ment— a  movement  of  restless  pain. 

"How  do  you  do,  my  dear  niece,"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
that  distinctly  indicated  quotation  marks.  "As  to  see- 
ing, it  is  too  dark  to  see  anything  but  the  sky." 

"Yes,  truly,"  said  Ange;  "I  will  get  the  lamp.  We 
are  late  to-night,  but  the  tale  was  a  long  one,  and  I 
knew  the  market  folk  would  be  late  on  such  a  fine 
evening." 

She  went  out  quickly,  and  Aline,  coming  nearer  to 
the  window,  uttered  a  little  exclamation  of  pleasure. 

"Ah,  how  lovely!"  she  said,  just  above  her  breath. 

The  window  looked  west  through  the  open  end  of 
the  hollow  where  Rancy  lay,  and  a  level  wash  of  gold 
held  the  horizon.  Wing-like  clouds  of  grey  and  purple 
rested  brooding  above  it,  and  between  them  shone  the 
evening  star.  On  either  side  the  massed  trees  stood 
black  against  the  glow,  and  the  scent  of  the  lavender 
came  up  like  the  incense  of  peace. 

Marthe  Desaix  looked  curiously  at  her,  but  all  she 
could  see  was  a  slim  form,  in  the  dusk. 

"You  find  that  better  than  lamplight?"  she  asked. 

"I  find  it  very  beautiful,"   said  Aline.     "It  is  so 


26o       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

long  since  I  saw  trees  and  flowers,  and  the  sun  going 
down  amongst  the  hills.  My  window  in  Paris  looked 
into  a  street  like  a  gutter,  and  one  could  only  see,  oh, 
such  a  little  piece  of  sky." 

As  she  spoke  Ange  came  in  with  a  lamp,  which  she 
set  beside  the  bed;  and  immediately  the  glowing  sky 
seemed  to  fade  and  recede  to  an  immeasurable  distance. 
In  the  lamplight  the  likeness  which  had  startled  Aline 
almost  disappeared.  Marthe  Desaix'  strong,  handsome 
features  were  in  their  original  cast  almost  identical  with 
those  of  her  nephew,  but  seen  full  face,  they  were  so 
blanched  and  lined  with  pain  that  the  resemblance 
was  blurred,  and  the  big  dark  eyes,  like  pools  of  ink, 
had  nothing  in  common  with  Dangeau's. 

Aline  herself  was  conscious  of  being  looked  up  and 
down.  Then  Marthe  Desiax  said,  with  a  queer  twist  of 
the  mouth : 

"You  did  not  live  long  in  Paris,  then?" 

"  It  seemed  a  long  time, "  said  Aline.  "  It  seems  years 
when  I  try  to  look  back,  but  it  really  is  n't  a  year  yet. " 

"You  like  the  country?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  faltered  Aline,  conscious  of  having 
said  too  much. 

"Poor  child,"  said  Ange.  "It  is  sad  for  you  this 
separation.  I  know  what  you  must  feel.  You  have 
been  married  so  short  a  time,  and  he  has  to  leave  you. 
It  is  very  hard,  but  the  time  will  pass,  and  we  will  try 
and  make  you  happy." 

"You  are  very  good,"  said  Aline  in  a  low  voice. 
Then  she  looked  and  saw  Mile  Marthe 's  eyes  gazing  at 
her  between  perplexity  and  sarcasm. 

When  Aline  was  in  bed,  Ange  heard  her  sister's  views 
at  length. 

"A  still  tongue  's  best,  my  Ange,  but  between  you 


A  New  Environment  261 

and  me'* — she  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  then  bit  her 
lip,  as  the  movement  jarred  her — "there  is  certainly 
something  strange  about  'our  new  niece,'  as  you  call 
her." 

"Well,  she  is  our  nephew's  wife,"  said  Ange. 

"Our  nephew's  wife,  but  no  wife  for  our  nephew,  if 
I'm  not  much  mistaken,"  returned  Marthe  sharply. 

"I  thought  she  looked  sweet,  and  good." 

"Good,  good — yes,  we  're  all  good  at  that  age!  Bless 
my  soul,  Ange,  if  goodness  made  a  happy  marriage,  the 
devil  would  soon  have  more  holidays  than  working  days.  * ' 

"Ma  cherie,  if  any  one  heard  you!" 

"Well,  they  don't,  and  I  should  n't  mind  if  they  did. 
What  I  do  mind  is  that  Jacques  should  have  made  a 
marriage  which  will  probably  break  his  heart." 

"But  why,  why?" 

"Oh,  my  Angel,  if  you  saw  things  under  your  nose  as 
clearly  as  you  do  those  that  are  a  hundred  years  away, 
you  would  n't  have  to  ask  why." 

"I  saw  nothing  wrong,"  said  Ange  in  a  voice  of  dis- 
tress. 

"I  did  not  say  the  girl  was  a  thief,  or  a  murderess," 
returned  Marthe  quickly.  "  No,  I  '11  not  tell  you  what  I 
mean, — not  if  you  were  to  ask  me  on  your  knees, — not  if 
you  were  to  beg  it  with  your  last  breath." 

Ange  laughed  a  little. 

"Well,  well,  dearest,  perhaps  I  shall  guess.  Good- 
night, and  sleep  well." 

"As  if  I  ever  slept  well!" 

" Poor  darling !  Poor  dearest!  Is  it  so  bad  to-night? 
Let  me  turn  the  pillow.     Is  it  a  little  better  so?" 

"Perhaps. "     Then  as  Ange  reached  the  door : 

"Angel!" 

' '  What  is  it  then,  cherie  ? ' ' 


262       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

Mile  Marthe  put  a  thin  arm  about  her  sister*s  neck 
and  drew  her  close. 

"After  all,  I  will  tell  you. " 

"Though  I  did  not  beg  it  on  my  knees?" 

"Chut!" 

"Or  with  my  last  breath?'* 

"Very  well,  then;  if  you  do  not  wish  to  hear " 

"No,  no;  tell  me." 

"Well  then,  Ange,  she  is  noble — that  girl." 

"Oh  no!" 

"I  am  sure  of  it.  The  mystery,  her  coming  here. 
Why  has  she  no  relations,  no  friends?  And  then  her 
look,  her  manner.  Why,  the  first  tone  of  her  voice 
made  me  start." 

"Oh  no,  he  would  not " 

"  Would  not  ?  "  scoffed  Marthe.  "  He  's  a  fool  in  love, 
and  I  suppose  she  was  in  danger.  I  tell  you,  I  sus- 
pected it  at  once  when  his  letter  came.  There,  go  to 
bed,  and  dream  of  our  connection  with  the  aristocracy. 
My  faith,  how  times  change!     It  is  an  edifying  world." 

She  pushed  Ange  away,  and  lay  a  long  time  watching 
the  stars. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AT  HOME  AND  AFIELD 

ALINE  slept  late  in  the  morning  after  her  arrival. 
Everything  was  so  fresh,  and  sweet,  and  clean 
that  it  was  a  pleasure  just  to  lie  between  the  lavender- 
scented  sheets,  and  smell  the  softness  of  the  summer 
air  which  came  in  at  the  open  casement.  She  had 
meant  to  rise  early,  but  whilst  she  thought  of  it,  she 
slept  again,  drawn  into  the  pleasant  peace  of  the  hour. 

When  she  did  awake  the  sun  was  quite  high,  and 
she  dressed  hastily  and  went  down  into  the  garden. 
Here  she  was  aware  of  Mile  Ange,  basket  on  arm, 
busily  snipping,  cutting,  and  choosing  amongst  the  low 
herbs  which  filled  this  part  of  the  enclosure.  She 
straightened  herself,  and  turned  with  a  kind  smile  and 
kiss,  which  called  about  her  the  atmosphere  of  home. 
The  look  and  touch  seemed  things  at  once  familiar 
and  comfortable,  found  again  after  many  days  of 
loss. 

"Are  you  rested  then,  my  dear?"  asked  the  pleasant 
voice.  "Yesterday  you  looked  so  tired,  and  pale.  We 
must  bring  some  roses  into  those  cheeks,  or  Jacques 
will  surely  chide  us  when  he  comes. " 

On  the  instant  the  roses  were  there,  and  Aline  stood 
transfigured ;  but  they  faded  almost  at  once,  and  left  her 
paler  than  before. 

263 


264       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

Mile  Ange  opened  her  basket,  and  showed  neat 
bunches  of  green  herbs  disposed  within. 

"I  make  ointments  and  tinctures,"  she  said,  "and 
to-day  I  must  be  busy,  for  some  of  the  herbs  I  use  are 
at  their  best  just  now,  and  if  they  are  not  picked,  will 
spoil.  All  the  village  comes  to  me  for  simples  and 
salves,  so  that  between  them,  and  the  children,  and  my 
poor  Marthe,  I  am  not  idle." 

"May  I  help?"  asked  Aline  eagerly;  and  Mile  Ange 
nodded  a  pleased  "Yes,  yes." 

That  was  a  pleasant  morning.  The  buzz  of  the  bees, 
the  scent  of  the  flowers,  the  warm  freshness  of  the 
day — all  were  delightful;  and  presently,  to  watch  Ange 
boiling  one  mysterious  compound,  straining  another, 
distilling  a  third,  had  all  the  charm  of  a  child's  new 
game.  Life's  complications  fell  back,  leaving  a  little 
space  of  peace  like  a  fairy  ring  amongst  new-dried  grass. 
Mile  Marthe  lay  on  her  couch  knitting,  and  watching. 
Every  now  and  again  she  flashed  a  remark  into  the  breath- 
less silence,  on  which  Ange  would  look  up  with  her  sweet 
smile,  and  then  turn  absently  to  her  work  again. 

"There  is  then  to  be  no  food  to-day?"  said  Marthe 
at  last,  her  voice  calmly  sarcastic. 

Ange  finished  counting  the  drops  she  was  transferring 
from  one  mysterious  vessel  to  another. 

"Eight,  nine,  ten,  eleven,  twelve — what  was  that 
you  said,  cherie?" 

"Nothing,  my  dear.  Angels,  of  course,  are  not 
dependent  on  food,  and  Jacques  is  too  far  away  to 
prosecute  us  if  we  starve  his  wife." 

"Oh,  tr^s  chere,  is  it  so  late?  Why  did  you  not 
say?  And  after  such  a  night,  too — my  poor  dearest. 
See,  I  fly.  Oh,  I  am  vexed,  and  to-day  too,  when  I 
told  Jeanne  I  would  make  the  omelette." 


At  Home  and  Afield  265 

Marthe's  eyebrows  went  up,  and  Ange  turned  in 
smiling  distress  to  Aline. 

"She  will  be  so  cross,  our  old  Jeanne!  She  loves 
punctuality,  and  she  adores  making  omelettes;  but  then, 
see  you,  she  has  no  gift  for  making  an  omelette — it  is 
just  sheer  waste  of  my  good  eggs — so  to-day  I  said  I 
would  do  it  myself,  in  your  honour." 

"And  mine,"  observed  Marthe,  with  a  click  of  the 
needles.     "Jeanne's  omelettes  I  will  not  eat." 

"Oh,  tr^s  chere,  be  carefiil.  She  has  such  ears,  she 
heard  what  you  said  about  the  last  one,  and  she  was 
so  angry.  Aline  must  come  with  me  now,  or  I  dare 
not  face  her." 

They  went  down  together  and  into  the  immaculate 
kitchen,  where  Jeanne,  busily  compounding  a  pie, 
turned  a  little  cross,  sallow  face  upon  them,  and  rose, 
grumbling  audibly,  to  fetch  eggs  and  the  pan. 

"That  good  Jeanne,"  said  Ange  in  an  undertone, 
"she  has  all  the  virtues  except  a  good  temper.  Marthe 
says  she  is  like  food  without  salt — all  very  good  and 
wholesome,  but  so  nasty;  but  she  is  really  attached  to 
us  and  after  twenty  years  thinks  she  has  a  right  to  her 
temper." 

Here,  the  returning  Jeanne  banged  down  a  dish,  and 
clattered  with  a  small  pile  of  spoons  and  forks. 

Ange  Desaix  broke  an  egg  delicately,  and  watched 
the  white  drip  from  the  splintered  shell. 

"Things  are  beautiful,  are  they  not,  little  niece? 
Just  see  this  gold  and  white,  and  the  speckled  shell  of 
this  one,  and  the  pink  glow  shining  here.  One  could 
swear  one  saw  the  life  brooding  within,  and  here  I 
break  it,  and  its  little  embryo  miracle,  in  order  to 
please  a  taste  which  Jeanne  considers  the  direct  temp- 
tation of  some  imp  who  delights  to  plague  her, " 


266       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

,  She  laughed  softly,  and  putting  the  egg-shells  on  one 
side,  began  to  chop  up  a  little  bunch  of  herbs. 

"An  omelette  is  very  much  like  a  life,  I  think,"  she 
said  after  a  moment.  "No  two  are  alike,  though  all 
are  made  with  eggs.  One  puts  in  too  many  herbs,  and 
the  dish  is  bitter;  another  too  few,  and  it  is  tasteless. 
Or  we  are  impatient,  and  snatch  at  life  in  the  raw;  or 
idle,  and  btim  our  mixture.  It  is  only  one  here 
and  there  who  gets  both  matter  and  circumstance 
right." 

Jeanne  viSiS  hovering  like  an  angry  bird,  and  as 
Mile  Desaix'  voice  became  more  dreamy,  and  her  eyes 
looked  farther  and  farther  away  into  space,  she  twitched 
out  a  small,  vicious  claw  of  a  hand,  and  stealthily  drew 
away  the  bowl  that  held  the  eggs. 

"One  must  just  make  the  most  of  what  one  has," 
Ange  was  saying.  Was  she  thinking  of  that  sudden 
blush  and  pallor  of  a  few  hours  back,  or;  of  her  sister's 
words  the  night  before? 

"If  one's  lot  is  tasteless,  one  must  flavour  it  with 
cheerfulness;  and  if  it  is  bitter,  drink  clear  water  after 
it,  and  forget." 

Aline  shivered  a  little,  and  then,  in  spite  of  herself, 
she  smiled.  Jeanne  had  her  pan  on  the  fire,  and  a 
sudden  raw  smell  of  burning  rose  up,  almost  palpably. 
The  mistress  of  the  house  came  back  from  her  dreams 
with  a  start,  looked  wildly  round,  and  missed  her  eggs, 
her  herbs,  her  every  ingredient.  "Jeanne!  but  truly, 
Jeanne!"  she  cried  hotly;  and  as  she  spoke  the  little 
figure  at  the  fire  whisked  round  and  precipitated  a 
burnt,  sodden  substance  on  to  the  waiting  dish. 

"Ma'mselle  is  served,"  she  said  snappishly,  but  there 
was  a  glint  of  triumph  in  her  eye. 

"No,  Jeanne,  it  is  too  much,"  said  Ange,  flushing; 


At  Home  and  Afield  267 

whereat  Jeanne  merely  picked  up  the  dish  and  ob- 
served : 

"If  Ma'mselle  will  proceed  into  the  other  room,  I 
will  serve  the  dejeuner.  Ma'mselle  has  perhaps  not 
remarked  that  it  grows  late." 

After  which  speech  Mile  Desaix  walked  out  of  the 
room  with  a  fine  dignity,  and  the  smell  of  the  burnt 
omelette  followed  her. 

Then  began  a  time  of  household  peace  and  quiet 
healing,  in  which  at  first  Aline  rested  happily.  In 
this  small  backwater,  life  went  on  very  uneventfully, — • 
birth  and  death  in  the  village  being  the  only  happenings 
of  note, — the  state  of  Jeanne's  temper  the  most  pressing 
anxiety,  since  Mile  Marthe's  suffering  condition  was  a 
thing  of  such  long  standing  as  to  be  accepted  as  a 
matter  of  course,  even  by  her  devoted  sister. 

Of  France  beyond  the  hills — of  Paris,  only  thirty 
miles  away — they  heard  very  little.  The  news  of  the 
Queen's  trial  and  death  did  penetrate,  and  fell  into  the 
quiet  like  a  stone  into  a  sleeping  pond.  All  the  village 
rippled  with  it — broke  into  waves  of  discussion,  splashes 
of  lamentation,  froth  of  approval,  and  then  settled  again 
into  its  wonted  placidity. 

Aline  felt  a  pang  of  awakening.  Whilst  she  was 
dreaming  here  amongst  the  peace  of  herby  scents  and 
the  drowse  of  harvesting  bees,  tragedy  still  moved  on 
Fate's  highways,  and  she  felt  sudden  terror  and  the  sting 
of  a  sharp  self-reproach.  She  shrank  from  Mile  Ange's 
kind  eyes  of  pity,  touched — just  touched — with  an  un- 
faltering faith  in  the  necessity  for  the  appalling  judg- 
ment. The  misty  hazel  eyes  wept  bitterly,  but  the  will 
behind  them  bowed  loyally  to  the  decrees  of  the 
Revolution. 

"There  's  no  great  cause  without  its  victim,  no  new 


268       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

faith  without  bloodshed,"  she  said  to  Marthe,  with  a 
kindling  glance. 

"I said  nothing,  my  dear,"  was  the  dry  reply. 

Ange  paced  the  room,  brushing  away  hot  tears. 

"It  is  for  the  future,  for  the  new  generations,  that 
we  make  these  sacrifices,  these  terrible  sacrifices,"  she 
cried. 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  said  Marthe  quickly,  and  then  added 
with  a  shrug:  "For  me,  I  never  felt  any  vocation  for 
reforming  the  world;  and  if  I  were  you,  my  Angel,  I 
would  let  it  alone.  The  devil  has  too  much  to  do  with 
things  in  general,  that  is  my  opinion." 

"There  is  nothing  I  can  do,"  said  Ange,  at  her  sad- 
dest. 

"Thank  Heaven  for  that ! "  observed  her  sister  piously. 
"But  I  will  tell  you  one  thing — you  need  not  talk  of 
noble  sacrifices  and  such-like  toys  in  front  of  Jacques's 
wife." 

"I  would  not  hurt  her,"  said  Ange;  "but,  ch^rie,  she 
is  a  Republican's  wife — she  must  know  his  views,  his 
aims.     Why,  he  voted  for  the  King's  death !" 

"Just  so,"  nodded  Marthe:  "he  voted  for  the  King's 
death.     I  should  keep  a  still  tongue,  if  I  were  you." 

"You  still  think ?" 

" Think?  "  with  scorn.     "  I  am  sure. " 

A  few  days  later  there  was  a  letter  from  Dangeau, 
just  a  few  lines.  He  was  well.  Lyons  still  held  out, 
but  they  hoped  that  any  day  might  end  the  siege.  He 
begged  to  be  commended  to  his  aunts.  Aline  read  the 
letter  aloud,  in  a  faltering  voice,  then  laid  it  in  her  lap, 
and  sat  staring  at  it  with  eyes  that  suddenly  filled,  and 
saw  the  letters  now  blurred,  now  unnaturally  black  and 
large.  Mile  Ange  went  out  of  the  room,  leaving  her 
alone  under  Marthe's  intent  regard;  but  for  once  she  was 


At  Home  and  Afield  269 

too  absorbed  to  heed  it,  and  sat  there  looking  into  her 
lap  and  twisting  her  wedding-ring  round  and  round, 
Marthe's  voice  broke  crisply  in  upon  her  thoughts. 

"So  he  married  you  with  his  mother's  ring?" 

She  started,  covering  it  quickly  with  her  other  hand. 

"Is  it?  No,  I  didn't  know,"  she  murmured  con- 
fusedly. Then,  with  an  effort  at  defence:  " How  do  you 
know,  Mademoiselle  Marthe?" 

"How  does  one  know  anything,  child?  By  using 
one's  eyes,  and  putting  two  and  two  together.  Some- 
times they  make  four,  and  sometimes  they  don't,  but  it  's 
worth  trying.  The  ring  is  plainly  old,  and  my  sister 
wore  just  such  another ;  and  after  her  death  Jacques  wore 
it  too,  on  his  little  finger.     He  adored  his  mother." 

The  scene  of  her  wedding  flashed  before  Aline.  At 
the  time  she  had  not  seemed  to  be  aware  of  anything, 
but  now  she  distinctly  saw  the  priest's  hand  stretched 
out  for  the  ring,  and  Dangeau's  little  pause  of  hesitation 
before  he  took  it  off  and  gave  it. 

Marthe's  brows  were  drawn  together. 

"Now,  did  he  give  it  her  for  love,  or  because  there 
was  need  for  haste?"  she  was  thinking,  and  decided: 
"No,  not  for  love,  or  he  would  have  told  her  it  was  his 
mother's."  And  aloud  she  said  calmly:  "You  see,  you 
were  married  in  such  a  hurry  that  there  was  no  time  to 
get  a  new  one." 

Aline  looked  up  and  spoke  on  impulse. 

"What  did  he  tell  you  about  our  marriage?"  she 
asked. 

"My  dear,  what  was  there  to  tell?  He  wrote  a  few 
lines — he  does  not  love  writing  letters,  it  appears — 
he  had  married  a  young  girl.  Her  name  was  Marie 
Aline  Roche,  and  he  commended  her  to  our  protection. " 

"Was  that  all?" 


270       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Certainly." 

"Then  do  you  think  I  had  better  tell  you  more?" 
said  Aline  unsteadily. 

Marthe  looked  at  her  with  a  certain  pity  in  her 
glance. 

"You  did  not  learn  prudence  in  an  easy  school,"  she 
said  slowly,  and  then  added:  "No,  better  not;  and 
besides,  there  's  not  much  need — it 's  all  plain  enough  to 
any  one  who  has  eyes." 

Dangeau's  letter  of  about  this  date  to  Danton  con- 
tained a  little  more  information  than  that  he  sent  his 
wife. 

"The  scoundrels  have  thrown  off  the  mask  at  last," 
he  wrote  in  a  vigorous  hand,  which  showed  anger. 
"Yesterday  Pr^cy  fought  under  the  fleur-de-lys.  Well, 
better  an  open  enemy,  an  avowed  Royalist,  than  a 
Girondist  aping  of  Republican  principles,  and  treachery 
under  the  surface.  France  may  now  guess  at  what  she 
has  been  saved  by  the  fall  of  the  Gironde.  They  hope 
for  reinforcements  here.  Our  latest  advices  are  that 
Sardinia  will  not  move.  As  to  Autichamp,  he  promises 
help,  and  instigates  plots  from  a  judicious  distance; 
but  he  and  his  master,  Artois,  feel  safer  on  any 
soil  but  that  of  France,  and  I  gather  that  he  will 
not  leave  Switzerland  at  present.  Losses  on  both 
sides  are  considerable.  To  give  the  devil  his  due, 
Precy  has  the  courage  of  ten,  and  we  never  know 
when  he  will  be  at  our  throats.  Very  brilliant  work, 
those  sallies  of  his.  I  wish  we  had  half  a  dozen  like 
him." 

On  the  ninth  of  October  Lyons  fell,  and  the  fiat  of  the 
Republic  went  forth.  "Lyons  has  no  longer  a  name 
among  cities.  Down  with  her  to  the  dust  from  which 
she  rose,  and  on  the  bloodstained  site  let  build  a  pillar 


At  Home  and  Afield  271 

bearing  these  warning  words:  'Lyons  rebelled  against 
the  Republic:  Lyons  is  no  more.'  " 

Forthwith  terror  was  let  loose,  and  the  town  ran 
blood,  till  the  shriek  of  its  torment  went  up  night  and 
day  unceasingly,  and  things  were  done  which  may  not 
be  written. 

At  this  time  Dangeau's  letters  ceased,  and  it  was  not 
until  Christmas  that  news  of  him  came  again  to  Rancy. 
Then  he  wrote  shortly,  saying  he  had  been  wounded  on 
the  last  day  of  the  siege,  and  had  lain  ill  for  weeks, 
but  was  now  recovered,  and  had  received  orders  to 
join  Dugommier,  the  Victor  of  Toulon,  on  his  march 
against  Spain.  The  letter  was  short  enough,  but  some- 
thing of  the  writer's  longing  to  be  up  and  away 
from  reeking  Lyons  was  discernible  in  the  stiff,  curt 
sentences. 

In  truth  the  tide  of  disgust  rose  high  about  him,  and 
raise  what  barriers  he  would,  it  threatened  to  break  in 
upon  his  convictions  and  drown  them.  News  from  Paris 
was  worse  and  worse.  The  Queen's  trial  sickened,  the 
Feast  of  Reason  revolted  him. 

Down  with  tyrants,  but  for  liberty's  sake  with  decency ! 
Away  with  superstition  and  all  the  network  of  priests' 
intrigues;  but,  in  the  outraged  name  of  reason,  no  more 
of  these  drunken  orgies,  these  feasts  which  defied  public 
morality,  whilst  a  light  woman  postured  half  naked  on 
the  altar  where  his  mother  had  worshipped.  This 
nauseated  him,  and  drew  from  his  pen  an  imprudently 
indignant  letter,  which  Danton  frowned  over  and  con- 
signed to  the  flames.  He  wrote  back,  however,  scarcely 
less  emphatically,  though  he  recommended  prudence 
and  a  still  tongue. 

"  Mad  times  these,  my  friend,  but  decency  I  will  have, 
though  all  Paris  runs  raving.     It 's  a  fool  business,  but 


2  72       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

you  *d  best  not  say  so.  Take  my  advice  and  hold  your 
tongue,  though  I  've  not  held  mine." 

Dangeau  made  haste  to  be  gone  from  blood-drenched 
Lyons,  and  to  wipe  out  his  recollections  of  her  punish- 
ment in  the  success  which  from  the  first  attended 
Dugommier's  arms. 

Spain  receded  to  the  Pyrenees;  and  over  the  passes 
in  wild  wet  weather,  stung  by  the  cold,  and  tormented 
by  a  wind  that  cut  like  a  sword  of  ice,  the  French  army 
followed. 

Here,  heroism  was  the  order  of  the  day.  If  in 
Paris,  where  Terror  stalked,  men  were  less  than  men 
and  worse  than  brutes,  because  possessed  by  some 
devil  soul,  damned,  and  dancing,  here  they  were 
more  than  men,  animated  by  a  superhuman  courage 
and  persistence.  Yet,  terrible  puzzle  of  human  life, 
the  men  were  of  the  same  breed,  the  same  stuff,  the 
same  kin. 

Antoine,  shouting  lewd  songs  about  a  desecrated  altar, 
or  watching  with  red,  cruel  eyes  the  death-agony  of 
innocent  women  and  young  boys,  was  own  brother  to 
Jean,  whose  straw-shod  feet  carried  his  brave,  starving 
body  over  the  blood-stained  Pyrenean  passes,  and  who 
shared  his  last  crust  cheerfully  with  an  unprovided 
comrade.  One  mother  bore  and  nursed  them  both,  and 
both  were  the  spiritual  children  of  that  great  Revolution 
who  bore  twin  sons  to  France — Licence  and  Liberty. 
Nothing  gives  one  so  vivid  a  picture  of  France  under 
the  Terror  as  the  realisation  that  to  find  relief  from  the 
prevailing  horror  and  inhumanity  one  must  turn  to  the 
battlefields. 

The  army  fought  with  an  empty  stomach,  bare  back, 
and  bleeding  feet,  and  Dangeau  found  enough  work  to 
his  hand  to  occupy  the  energies  of  ten  men.     The  com- 


At  Home  and  Afield  273 

missariat  was  disgraceful,  supplies  scant,  and  the  men 
lacking  of  every  necessary. 

Having  made  inquiries,  he  turned  back  to  France,  and 
ranged  the  South  like  a  flame,  gathering  stores,  am- 
munition, arms,  shoes — everything,  in  fact,  of  which 
that  famished  but  indomitable  army  stood  in  such  dire 
need.  Summary  enough  the  methods  of  those  days, 
and  Dangeau's  way  was  as  short  a  one  as  most,  and 
more  successful  than  many. 

He  would  ride  into  a  town,  establish  himself  at  the 
inn,  and  send  for  the  Mayor,  who,  according  as  his 
nature  were  bold  or  timid,  came  blustering  or  trembling. 
France  had  no  king,  but  the  tricoloured  feathers  on  her 
Commissioner's  hat  were  a  sign  of  power  quite  as  auto- 
cratic as  the  obsolete  fleur-de-lys. 

Dangeau  sat  at  a  table  spread  with  papers,  wrote  on 
for  a  space,  and  then — 

"Citizen  Mayor,  I  require,  on  behalf  of  the  National 
Army,  five  hundred  (or  it  might  be  a  thousand)  pairs  of 
boots,  so  many  beds,  such  and  such  provisions." 

"But,  Citizen  Commissioner,  we  have  them  not." 

Dangeau  consulted  a  notebook. 

"I  can  give  you  twenty-four  hours  to  produce  them, 
not  more." 

"But,  Citizen,  these  are  impossibilities.  We  cannot 
produce  what  we  have  not  got." 

"And  neither  can  our  armies  save  your  throats  from 
being  cut  if  they  are  unprovided.  Twenty-four  hours, 
Citizen  Mayor." 

According  to  his  nature,  the  Mayor  swore  or  cringed. 

"It  is  impossible." 

Dangeau  drew  out  a  list.     The  principal  towns  of  the 
South  figured  on  it  legibly.     Setting  a  thick  mark  against 
one  name,  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  man  before  him. 
18 


2  74       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"  Have  you  considered,  Citizen, "  he  said  sternly,  "that 
what  is  grudged  to  France  will  be  taken  by  Spain? 
Also,  it  were  wiser  to  yield  to  my  demands  than  to 
those  of  such  an  embassy  as  the  Republic  sent  to  Lyons. 
My  report  goes  in  to-night." 

"Your  report?" 

"Non-compliance  with  requisitions  is  to  be  reported 
to  the  Convention  without  delay.  I  have  my  orders, 
and  you,  Citizen  Mayor,  have  yours." 

"But,  Citizen,  where  am  I  to  get  the  things?" 

Dangeau  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Is  it  my  business?  But  I  see  you  wear  an  excellent 
pair  of  shoes,  I  see  well-shod  citizens  in  your  streets — 
you  neither  starve  nor  lie  on  the  ground.  Our  soldiers 
do  both.  If  any  must  go  without,  let  it  be  the  idle. 
Twenty-four  hours.  Citizen  Mayor." 

And  in  twenty-four  hours  boots,  beds,  and  provisions 
were  forthcoming.  Lyons  had  not  been  rased  for  nothing, 
and  with  the  smell  of  her  burning  yet  upon  the  air,  the 
shriek  of  her  victims  still  in  the  wintry  wind,  no  town 
had  the  courage  to  refuse  what  was  asked  for.  Protest^ 
ingly  they  gave;  the  army  was  provided,  and  Dangeau, 
shutting  his  ears  to  Paris  and  her  madness,  pressecl 
forward  with  it  into  Spain. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 
RETURN  OF  TWO  FUGITIVES 

ALINE,  dear  child!" 
"Yes,  dear  aunt.'* 

"I  do  not  think  I  will  leave  Marthe  to-day,  the 
pain  is  so  bad;  but  I  do  not  like  to  disappoint  old  M^re 
Leroux.  No  one's  hens  are  laying  but  mine,  and  I 
promised  her  an  egg  for  her  f^te  day.  She  is  old,  and 
old  people  are  like  children,  and  very  little  pleases  or 
makes  them  unhappy. " 

Aline  folded  her  work. 

"Do  you  mean  you  would  like  me  to  go?  But  of 
course,  dear  aunt." 

"If  you  will,  my  child.  Take  your  warm  cloak,  and 
be  back  before  sundown;  and — Aline " 

"Yes,"  said  Aline  at  the  door. 

"If  you  see  Mathieu  Leroux,  stop  and  bid  him  'Good- 
day.  '     Just  say  a  word  or  two. " 

"I  do  not  like  Mathieu  Leroux, "  observed  Aline,  with 
the  old  lift  of  the  head. 

Mile  Ange  flushed  a  little. 

"He  has  a  good  heart,  I  'm  sure  he  has  a  good  heart, 
but  he  is  suspicious  by  nature.  Lately  Madelon  has  let 
fall  a  hint  or  two.  It  does  not  do,  my  child,  to  let 
people  think  one  is  proud,  or — or — in  any  way  different. " 

Aline's  eyes  were  a  little  startled. 

275 


276       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"What,  what  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"Child,  need  you  ask  me  that?" 

"Oh!"  she  said  quickly.  "What  did  Madelon 
say?" 

"Very  little.  You  know  she  is  afraid  of  her  father, 
and  so  is  Jean  Jacques.  It  was  to  Marthe  she  spoke, 
and  Mar  the  says  Mathieu  Leroux  is  a  dangerous  man; 
but  then  you  know  Marthe's  way.  Only,  if  I  were  you, 
I  should  bid  him  'Good-day,'  and  say  a  friendly  word 
or  two  as  you  pass." 

As  Aline  walked  down  to  the  village  at  a  pace  suited 
to  the  sharpness  of  the  February  day.  Mile  Ange's  words 
kept  ringing  in  her  head.  Had  Mile  Marthe  warned 
her  far  more  emphatically,  it  would  have  made  a  slighter 
impression;  but  when  Ange,  who  saw  good  in  all,  was 
aware  of  impending  trouble,  it  seemed  to  Aline  that 
the  prospect  was  threatening  indeed.  All  at  once  the 
pleasant  monotony  of  her  life  at  Rancy  appeared  to  be 
at  an  end,  and  she  looked  into  a  cloudy  and  uncertain 
future,  full  of  the  perils  from  which  she  had  had  so  short 
a  respite. 

When  she  came  to  the  inn  door  and  found  it  filled  by 
the  stout  form  of  Mathieu  Leroux  she  did  her  best  to 
smile  in  neighbourly  fashion;  but  her  eyes  sank  before 
his,  and  her  voice  sounded  forced  as  she  murmured, 
"Bonjour,  Citizen." 

Leroux'  black  eyes  looked  over  his  heavy  red  cheeks 
at  her.  They  were  full  of  a  desire  to  discover  some- 
thing discreditable  about  this  stranger  who  had  dropped 
into  their  little  village,  and  who,  though  a  patriot's  wife, 
displayed  none  of  the  signs  by  which  he,  Leroux,  esti- 
mated patriotism. 

"Bonjour,"  he  returned,  without  removing  his  pipe. 

Aline  struggled  with  her  annoyance. 


Return  of  Two  Fugitives  277 

"How  is  your  mother  to-day?"  she  inquired.  **My 
aunt  has  sent  her  a  new-laid  egg.     May  I  go  in?" 

"Eh,  she  's  well  enough, "  he  grumbled.  " There  is  too 
much  fuss  made  over  her.  She  '11  live  this  twenty  years, 
and  never  do  another  stroke  of  work.  That  's  my  luck. 
A  strong,  economical,  handy  wife  must  needs  die,  whilst 
an  old  woman,  who,  you  'd  think,  would  be  glad  enough 
to  rest  in  her  grave,  hangs  on  and  on.  Oh,  yes,  go  in, 
go  in;  she  '11  be  glad  enough  to  have  some  one  to  complain 
to." 

Aline  slipped  past  him,  frightened.  He  had  evidently 
been  drinking,  and  she  knew  from  Madelon  that  he  was 
liable  to  sudden  outbursts  of  passion  when  this  was  the 
case. 

In  a  small  back  room  she  found  old  M^re  Leroux 
crouched  by  the  fire,  groaning  a  little  as  she  rocked 
herself  to  and  fro.  When  she  saw  that  Aline  was  alone, 
she  gave  a  little  cry  of  disappointment. 

"And  Mile  Ange?"  she  cried  in  her  cracked  old  voice. 

"My  aunt  Marthe  is  bad  to-day;  she  could  not  leave 
her,"  explained  Aline. 

"Oh,  poor  Ma'mselle  Marthe — and  I  remember  her 
straight  and  strong  and  handsome;  not  a  beauty  like 
Ma'mselle  Ange,  but  well  enough,  well  enough.  Then 
she  falls  down  a  bank  with  a  great  stone  on  top  of  her, 
and  there  she  is,  no  better  than  an  old  woman  like  me, 
who  has  had  her  life,  and  whom  no  one  cares  for  any 
more." 

"Oh,  Mdre  Leroux,  you  should  n't  say  that!" 

"It 's  true,  my  dear,  true  enough.  Mathieu  is  a  bad 
son,  a  bad  son.  Some  day  he  '11  turn  me  out,  and  I 
shall  go  to  Madelon.  She  's  a  good  girl,  Madelon;  but 
when  a  girl  has  got  a  husband,  what  does  she  care  for 
an  old  grandmother?    Now  Charles  was  a  good  son.  Yes, 


278       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

if  Charles  had  lived — but  then  it  is  always  the  best  who 
go." 

"You  had  another  son,  then?"  said  Aline,  bringing 
a  wooden  stool  to  the  old  woman's  side. 

"Yes,  my  son  Charles.  Ah,  a  fine  lad  that,  and 
handsome.  He  was  M.  Rene's  body  servant,  and  you 
should  have  seen  him  in  his  livery — a  fine,  straight  man, 
handsomer  than  M.  R^n6.  Ah,  well,  he  fretted  after  his 
master,  and  then  he  took  a  fever  and  died  of  it,  and 
Mathieu  has  never  been  a  good  son  to  me." 

"M.  R^ne  died?"  asked  Aline  quickly,  for  the  old 
woman  had  begun  to  cry. 

M^re  Leroux  dried  her  eyes. 

"Ah,  yes;  there  's  no  one  who  knows  more  about  that 
than  I.  He  was  in  Paris,  and  as  he  came  out  of  M.  le 
due  de  Noailles's  Hotel,  he  met  M.  de  Breze,  and  M.  de 
Breze  said  to  him,  'Well,  Rene,  we  have  been  hearing 
of  you,'  and  M.  Rene  said,  'How  so?'  'Why,'  says 
M.  de  Breze  (my  son  Charles  was  with  M.  Rene,  and 
he  heard  it  all),  'Why,'  says  M.  de  Breze,  'I  hear  you 
have  found  a  guardian  angel  of  quite  surpassing  beauty. 
May  I  not  be  presented  to  her?'  Then,  Charles  said, 
M.  Rene  looked  straight  at  him  and  answered,  'When  I 
bring  Mme  Rene  de  Montenay  to  Paris,  I  will  present 
you. '  M.  de  Brezd  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  slapped 
M.  Rene  on  the  arm.  '  Oho, '  said  he,  '  you  are  very  sly, 
my  friend.  I  was  not  talking  of  your  marriage,  but  of 
your  mistress. ' 

"Then  M.  R^ne  put  his  hand  on  his  sword,  and  said, 
still  very  quietly,  'You  have  been  misinformed;  it  is  a 
question  of  my  marriage.'  Charles  said  that  M.  de 
Br6ze  was  flushed  with  wine,  or  he  would  not  have 
laughed  as  he  did  then.  Well,  well,  well,  it 's  a  great 
many  years  ago,  but  it  was  a  pity,  a  sad  pity.     M.  de 


Return  of  Two  Fugitives  279 

Br^ze  was  the  better  swordsman,  and  he  ran  M.  R^n^ 
through  the  body." 

"And  he  died?"  said  Aline. 

"Not  then;  no,  not  then.  It  would  have  been  better 
like  that — yes,  much  better." 

"Oh,  what  happened?" 

"Charles  heard  it  all.  The  surgeon  attended  to  the 
wound,  and  said  that  with  care  it  would  do  well,  only 
there  must  be  perfect  quiet,  perfect  rest.  With  his 
own  ears  he  heard  that  said,  and  the  old  Marquise  went 
straight  from  the  surgeon  to  M.  Rene's  bedside,  and 
sat  down,  and  took  his  hand.  Charles  was  in  the 
next  room,  but  the  door  was  ajar,  and  he  could  hear 
and  see. 

"  'Rene,  my  son,'  she  said,  'I  hear  your  duel  was 
about  Ange  Desaix. '  M.  Ren^  said,  'Yes,  ma  mere.' 
Then  she  said  very  scornfully,  'I  have  undoubtedly 
been  misinformed,  for  I  was  told  that  you  fought  because 
— but  no,  it  is  too  absurd. ' 

"M.  Rene  moved  his  hand.  He  was  all  strapped  up, 
but  his  hand  could  move,  and  he  jerked  it,  thus,  to  stop 
his  mother;  and  she  stopped  and  looked  at  him.  Then 
he  said,  'I  fought  M.  de  Breze  because  he  spoke  dis- 
respectfully of  my  future  wife.'  Yes,  just  like  that  he 
said  it ;  and  what  it  must  have  been  to  Madame  to  hear 
it,  Lucifer  alone  knows,  for  her  pride  was  like  his. 
There  was  a  long  silence,  and  they  looked  hard  at  each 
other,  and  then  Madame  said,  'No!' — only  that,  but 
Charles  said  her  face  was  dreadful,  and  M.  Rene  said 
*Yes!'  almost  in  a  whisper,  for  he  was  weak,  and  then 
again  there  was  silence.  After  a  long  time  Madame 
got  up  and  went  out  of  the  room,  and  M.  Rene  gave 
a  long  sigh,  and  called  Charles,  and  asked  for  something 
to  drink.     Next  day  Madame  came  back.     She  did  not 


2  8o      A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

sit  down  this  time,  but  stood  and  stared  at  M.  R^n^. 
Big  black  eyes  she  had  then,  and  her  face  all  white,  as 
white  as  his.  'R6n6/  she  said,  'are  you  still  mad?' 
and  M.  Rene  smiled  and  said,  'I  am  not  mad  at  all.' 
She  put  her  hand  on  his  forehead.  'You  would  really 
do  this  thing?'  she  said.  'Lower  our  name,  take  as 
wife  what  you  might  have  for  the  asking  as  mistress?' 
M.  Rend  turned  in  bed  at  that,  and  between  pain  and 
anger  his  voice  sounded  strong  and  loud.  'Whilst  I 
am  alive,  there  's  no  man  living  shall  say  that, '  he  cried. 
'On  my  soul  I  swear  I  shall  marry  her,  and  on  my 
soul  I  swear  she  is  fit  to  be  a  king's  wife. ' 

"Madame  took  her  hand  away,  and  looked  at  it 
for  a  moment.  Afterwards,  when  Charles  told  me,  I 
thought,  did  she  wonder  if  she  shoiild  see  blood  on 
it?  And  then  without  another  word  she  went  out 
of  the  room,  and  gave  orders  that  her  carriages  were 
to  be  got  ready,  for  she  was  taking  M.  R6n6  to 
Rancy." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Aline. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  yes;  and  she  did  it  too,  and  he  died 
of  the  journey — died  calling  for  Mile  Ange." 

"Oh,  did  she  come?" 

"Charles  fetched  her,  and  for  that  Madame  never 
forgave  him." 

"Oh,  how  dreadful!" 

"Yes,  yes,  it  is  sad;  but  it  would  have  been  a  terrible 
mesalliance.  A  Montenay  and  his  stev/ard's  daughter ! 
No,  no,  it  would  not  have  done;  one  does  not  do  such 
things." 

Aline  got  up  abruptly. 

"Oh,  I  must  go, "  she  said.  " I  promised  I  would  not 
be  long.     See,  here  is  the  egg. " 

"You  are  in  such  a  hurry, "  mumbled  the  old  woman, 


Return  of  Two  Fugitives  281 

confused.  She  was  still  in  the  past,  and  the  sudden 
change  of  subject  bewildered  her. 

"I  will  come  again,"  said  Aline  gently. 

When  she  was  clear  of  the  inn  she  walked  very  fast 
for  a  few  moments,  and  then  stopped.  She  did  not 
want  to  go  home  at  once — the  story  she  had  just  heard 
had  taken  possession  of  her,  and  she  wanted  to  be  alone 
to  adjust  her  thoughts,  to  grow  accustomed  to  kind 
placid  Mile  Ange  as  the  central  figure  of  such  a  tragedy. 
After  a  moment's  pause  she  took  the  path  that  led  to 
the  chateau,  but  stopped  short  at  the  high  iron  gates. 
Beyond  them  the  avenue  looked  black  and  eerie.  Her 
desire  to  go  farther  left  her,  and  she  leaned  against  the 
gates,  taking  breath  after  the  climb. 

The  early  dusk  was  settling  fast  upon  the  bare  woods, 
and  the  hollow  where  the  village  lay  below  was  already 
dark  and  flecked  with  a  light  or  two.  Above,  a 
little  yellowish  glow  lurked  behind  the  low,  sullen 
clouds. 

It  was  very  still,  and  Aline  could  hear  the  drip,  drip 
of  the  moisture  which  last  night  had  coated  all  the 
trees  with  white,  and  which  to-night  would  surely  freeze 
again.  It  was  turning  very  cold;  she  would  not  wait. 
It  was  foolish  to  have  come,  more  than  foolish  to  let  an 
old  woman's  words  sting  her  so  sharply — "  One  does  not 
do  such  things."  Was  it  her  fancy  that  the  dim  eyes 
had  been  turned  curiously  upon  her  for  a  moment  just 
then?  Yes,  of  course,  it  was  only  fancy,  for  what  could 
M^re  Leroux  know  or  suspect?  She  drew  her  cloak 
closer,  and  was  about  to  turn  away  when  a  sound  startled 
her.  Close  by  the  gate  a  stick  cracked  as  if  it  had  been 
trodden  on,  and  there  was  a  faint  brushing  sound  as  of 
a  dress  trailing  against  the  bark  of  a  tree.  Aline  peered 
into  the  shadows  with  a  beating  heart,  and  thought  she 


282       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

saw  some  one  move.  Frightened  and  unnerved,  she 
caught  at  the  scroll-work  of  the  gate  and  stared  open- 
eyed,  unable  to  stir;  and  again  something  rustled  and 
moved  within.  This  time  it  was  plainly  a  woman's 
shape  that  flitted  from  one  tree  to  the  next — a  woman 
who  hid  a  moment,  then  leaned  and  looked,  and  at  last 
came  lightly  down  the  avenue  to  the  gate.  Here  the 
last  of  the  light  fell  on  Marguerite  de  Matigny's  face, 
showing  it  very  white  and  hollow-eyed.  Aline 's  heart 
stood  still.  Could  this  be  flesh  and  blood?  Marguerite 
here?     Not  in  the  flesh,  then. 

''Marguerite,"  she  breathed. 

Marguerite's  hand  came  through  the  wrought- work 
and  caught  at  her.  It  was  cold,  but  human,  and  Aline 
recovered  herself  with  a  gasp. 

"Marguerite,  you?" 

"And  Aline,  you?  I  looked,  and  looked,  and  thought 
't  was  you,  and  at  last  I  thought,  well,  I  '11  risk  it.  Oh, 
my  dear!" 

"But  I  don't  understand.  Oh,  Marguerite,  I  thought 
you  were  a  ghost." 

"And  wondered  why  I  should  come  here?  Well, 
I  've  some  right  to,  for  my  mother  was  a  Montenay. 
Did  you  not  know  it?" 

"No.  But  what  brings  you  here,  since  you  are  not  a 
ghost,  but  your  very  own  self?" 

"Tiens,  Aline,  I  have  wished  myself  any  one  or  any- 
thing but  myself  this  last  fortnight!  You  must  know 
that  when  I  was  set  free — and  oh,  ma  ch^rie,  I  heard  it 
was  your  husband  who  saved  me,  and  of  course  that 
means  you " 

"Not  me,"  said  Aline  quickly.  "He  did  it.  Who 
told  you?" 

"The  Abb^  Loisel.     He  knows  everything — too  much, 


Return  of  Two  Fugitives  283 

I  think!  I  don't  like  him,  which  is  ungrateful,  since  he 
got  me  out  of  Paris." 

"Did  he?     Where  did  you  go  then?'* 

"Why,  to  Switzerland,  to  BMe,  where  I  joined  my 
father;  and  then,  then — oh,  Aline,  do  you  know  I  am 
betrothed?" 

"My  dear,  and  you  are  happy?" 

Marguerite  screwed  up  her  face  in  an  unavailing 
attempt  to  keep  grave,  but  after  a  moment  burst  out 
laughing. 

"Why,  Aline,  he  is  so  droll,  and  a  countryman  of 
your  own.  Indeed,  I  believe  he  is  a  cousin,  for  his  name 
is  Desmond." 

"  And  you  like  him?  " 

"Oh,  I  adore  him,"  said  Mile  Marguerite  calmly. 
"Aline,  if  you  could  see  him!  His  hair — well,  it 's 
rather  red;  and  he  has  freckles  just  like  the  dear  little 
frogs  we  used  to  find  by  the  ponds,  Jean  and  I,  when  we 
were  children;  and  his  eyes  are  green  and  droll — oh,  but 
to  make  you  die  of  laughing " 

"  He  is  not  handsome,  then?  "  said  Aline,  laughing  too. 

"Oh  no,  ugly — but  most  adorably  ugly,  and  tall,  and 
broad;  and  oh.  Aline,  he  is  nice,  and  he  says  that  in 
Ireland  I  may  love  him  as  much  as  I  please,  and  no  one 
will  think  it  a  breach  of  decorum." 

"  Marguerite,  you  are  just  the  same,  you  funny  child ! " 

' '  Well,  why  not — it 's  not  so  long  since  we  saw  each 
other,  is  it?     Only  a  few  months. " 

"I  feel  as  if  it  were  centuries,"  said  Aline,  pressing 
her  hands  together. 

"Ah,  that 's  because  you  are  married.  Ciel !  that  was 
a  sensation,  your  marriage.  They  talked — yes,  they 
talked  to  split  your  ears.     The  things  they  said '* 

"And  you?" 


284       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"You  are  my  friend,"  said  Mile  de  Matigny 
with  decision.  "But  I  must  go  on  with  my  story. 
Well,  I  was  at  Bale  and  betrothed,  and  then  my 
father  and  Monsieur  my  fiance  set  off  to  join 
the  Princes,  leaving  me  with  Mme  de  Montenay, 
my  great-aunt,  who  is  ever  so  old,  and  quite,  quite 
mad!" 

"Oh,  Marguerite!" 

"Yes,  but  she  is.  Imagine  being  safe  in  B^le,  and 
then  coming  back  here,  all  across  France,  just  because 
she  could  not  die  anywhere  but  at  the  Chateau  de 
Montenay  in  Rancy-les-Bois. " 

"She  has  come  back?" 

"Should  I  be  here  otherwise?"  demanded  Marguerite 
pathetically.  "And  the  journey! — What  I  endured! — 
for  I  saw  guillotines  round  every  corner,  and  suspicious 
patriots  on  every  doorstep.  It  is  a  miracle  that  we  are 
here;  and  now  that  we  have  come,  it  is  all  very  well 
for  Madame  my  aunt,  who  has  come  here  to  die,  and 
requires  no  food  to  accomplish  that  end;  but  for  me,  I 
do  not  fancy  starving,  and  we  have  nothing  to  eat  in 
the  house." 

" Oh,  my  poor  dear!     What  made  you  come?" 

"Could  I  let  her  come  alone?  She  is  too  old  and 
too  weak ;  but  I  ought  to  have  locked  the  door  and  kept 
the  key — only,  old  as  she  is,  she  can  still  make  every  one 
do  as  she  wants." 

"You  are  not  alone?" 

"Jean  and  Louise,  her  old  servants,  started  with  us; 
but  Jean  got  himself  arrested.  Poor  Jean,  he  could  not 
pretend  well  enough." 

"And  Louise?" 

"Oh,  Louise  is  there,  but  she  is  nearly  as  old  as 
Madame." 


Return  of  Two  Fugitives  285 

"You  must  have  food,"  said  Aline  decidedly.  "I 
will  bring  you  some." 

"Oh,  you  angel!"  exclaimed  Marguerite,  kissing  her 
through  the  bars.  "When  you  came  I  was  standing 
here  trying  to  screw  up  my  courage  to  go  down  to  the 
inn  and  ask  for  some." 

"Oh,  not  the  inn,"  said  Aline  quickly;  "that's  the 
last  place  to  go.  I  'm  afraid  there  's  danger  everywhere, 
but  I  '11  do  what  I  can.  Go  back  to  the  chateau,  and 
I  '11  come  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Yes,  as  soon  as  possible,  please,  for  I  am  hungry 
enough  to  eat  you,  my  dear.  See,  have  n't  I  got  thin 
— yes,  and  pale  too?  I  assure  you  that  I  have  a  most 
interesting  air.'* 

"Does  M.  my  cousin  find  pallor  interesting?"  in- 
quired Aline  teasingly. 

"No,  my  dear;  he  has  a  bourgeois's  taste  for  colour. 
He  compared  me  once  to  a  carnation,  but  I  punished 
him  well  for  that.  I  stole  the  vinegar,  and  drank 
enough  to  make  me  feel  shockingly  ill.  Then  I  pow- 
dered my  cheeks,  and  then — then  I  talked  all  the  evening 
to  M.  de  Maille!" 

"And  my  cousin,  M,  le  Chevalier,  what  did  he  do?" 

Marguerite  gave  an  irrepressible  giggle. 

"He  went  away,  and  I  was  just  beginning  to  feel  that 
perhaps  he  had  been  punished  enough,  when  back  he 
came,  very  easy  and  smiling,  with  a  sweet  large  and 
beautiful  bouquet  of  white  carnations,  and  with  an 
elegant  bow  he  begged  me  to  accept  them,  since  white 
was  my  preference,  though  for  his  part  he  preferred  the 
beauteous  red  that  blushed  like  happy  love!" 

"And  then?" 

Marguerite's  voice  became  very  demure. 

"  Poor  grandmamma  used  to  say  life  was  compromise, 


286       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

so  I  compromised ;  next  morning  I  did  not  drink  vinegar, 
and  I  wore  a  blush  pink  bud  in  my  hair.  M.  le  Chevalier 
was  pleased  to  admire  it  extravagantly." 

Aline  ran  off  laughing,  but  she  was  grave  enough 
before  she  had  gone  very  far,  for  certainly  the  situation 
was  not  an  easy  one.  She  racked  her  brains  for  a 
plan,  but  could  find  none;  and  when  she  came  in,  Mile 
Marthe's  quick  eyes  at  once  discerned  that  something 
was  wrong. 

"  What  is  it,  child? "  she  said  hastily.  "Was  Mathieu 
rude?" 

"My  dear,  how  late  you  are,"  said  Mile  Ange, 
looking  up  from  her  needlework. 

"Not  Mathieu?"  continued  Marthe.  "What  has 
happened.  Aline?  You  have  not  bad  news?  It  is  not 
Jacques?"  and  her  lips  grew  paler. 

"No,  no,  ma  tante. " 

"What  is  it,  then?  Speak,  or — or — why,  you  have 
been  to  the  chateau!"  she  said  abruptly,  as  Aline  came 
into  the  lamplight. 

"Why,  Marthe,  what  makes  you  say  that?"  said 
Ange,  in  a  startled  voice. 

"The  rust  on  her  cloak — see,  it  is  all  stained.  She 
has  been  leaning  against  the  iron  gates.  What  took 
you  there,  and  what  has  alarmed  you?" 

"I— I  saw " 

"A  ghost?"  inquired  Marthe  with  sharp  sarcasm. 

Ange  rose  up,  trembling. 

"Oh,  she  has  come  back!  I  know  it,  I  have  felt  it! 
She  has  come  back, "  she  cried. 

"Ange,  don't  be  a  fool,"  said  Marthe,  but  her  eyes 
were  anxious. 

"Speak  then,  Aline,  and  tell  us  what  you  saw." 

"It  is  true,  she  has  come  back,"  said  Aline,  looking 


Return  of  Two  Fugitives  287 

away  from  Mile  Ange,  who  put  her  hands  before  her 
eyes  with  a  little  cr}^  and  stood  so  a  full  minute,  whilst 
Marthe  gave  a  harsh  laugh,  and  then  bit  her  lip  as  if 
in  pain. 

"Come  back  to  die?"  Ange  said  at  last,  very  low. 
"Alone?" — and  she  turned  on  Aline. 

"No,  a  niece  is  with  her.  It  was  she  whom  I  saw.  I 
knew  her  in  Paris — in  prison;  and,  ma  tante,  they  have 
no  food  in  the  house,  and  I  said  I  would  take  them  some." 

"No  food  goes  from  this  house  to  that,"  said  Marthe 
loudly,  but  Ange  caught  her  hand. 

"Oh,  we  can't  let  them  starve." 

"And  why  not.  Angel,  why  not?  The  old  devil! 
She  has  done  enough  mischief  in  the  world,  and  now 
that  her  time  has  come,  let  her  go.  Does  she  expect 
us,  us,  to  weep  for  her?" 

"No,  no;  but  I  can't  let  her  starve — you  know  I 
can't." 

Marthe  laughed  again.  .^ 

"No,  perhaps  not,  but  I  could,  and  I  would."  She 
paused.  "So  you  'd  heap  coals  of  fire — feed  her,  save 
her,  eh.  Angel?" 

"Oh,  Marthe,  don't!  For  the  love  of  God,  don't 
speak  to  me  like  that — when  you  know — when  you 
know!" 

Marthe  pulled  her  down  with  an  impulsive  gesture 
that  drew  a  groan  from  her. 

"Ah,  Ange,"  she  said  in  a  queer,  broken  voice;  and 
Ange  kissed  her  passionately  and  ran  out  of  the  room. 

There  was  a  long,  heavy  pause.     Then  Marthe  said: 

"So  you've  heard  the  story?     Who  told  you?" 

"M^re  Leroux,  to-night." 

"And  a  very  suitable  occasion.  Who  says  life  is  not 
dramatic?     So  M^re  Leroux  told  you,  and  you  went 


288       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

up  to  the  chateau  to  see  if  it  was  haunted,  and  it  was. 
Ciel,  if  those  stones  could  speak!  But  there  's  enough 
without  that — quite  enough." 

She  was  silent  again,  and  after  awhile  Mile  Ange 
came  back,  wrapped  in  a  thick  cloak  and  carrying  a 
basket. 

Aline  started  forward. 

"Ma  tante,  I  may  come  too?     It  is  so  dark." 

"And  the  dark  is  full  of  ghosts?"  said  Ange  Desaix, 
under  her  breath.  "Well,  then,  child,  you  may  come. 
Indeed,  the  basket  is  heavy,  and  I  shall  be  glad  of  your 
help." 

Outside,  the  night  had  settled  heavily,  and  without 
the  small  lantern  which  Mile  Ange  produced  from  under 
her  cloak,  it  would  have  been  impossible  to  see  the  path. 
A  little  breeze  had  risen  and  seemed  to  follow  them, 
moaning  among  the  leafless  boughs,  and  rustling  the 
dead  leaves  below.  They  walked  in  silence,  each 
with  a  hand  on  the  heavy  basket.  It  was  very  cold, 
and  yet  oppressive,  as  if  snow  were  about  to  fall 
or  a  storm  to  break.  Mile  Ange  led  the  way  up  a 
bridle-path,  and  when  the  grey  pile  of  the  chateau 
loomed  before  them  she  turned  sharply  to  the  left,  and 
Aline  felt  her  hand  taken.  "This  way,"  whispered 
Ange;  and  they  stumbled  up  a  broken  step  or  two,  and 
passed  through  a  long,  shattered  window.  "  This  way, " 
said  Ange  again.  "Mon  Dieu,  how  long  since  I  came 
here!     Ah,  mon  Dieu!" 

The  empty  room  echoed  to  their  steps  and  to  that 
low-voiced  exclamation,  and  the  lantern  light  fell 
waveringly  upon  the  shadows,  driving  them  into  the 
corners,  where  they  crowded  like  ghosts  out  of  that  past 
of  which  the  room  seemed  full. 

It  was  a  small  room,  and  had  been  exquisite.     Here 


Return  of  Two  Fugitives  289 

and  there  a  moulded  cupid  still  smiled  its  dimpled 
smile,  and  clutched  with  plump,  engaging  fingers  at  the 
falling  garland  of  white,  heavy-bloomed  roses  which 
served  it  for  girdle  and  plaything.  In  one  corner  a 
tattered  rag  of  brocade  still  showed  that  the  hangings 
had  been  green.     Ange  looked  round  mournfully. 

"It  was  Madame's  boudoir,"  she  said  slowly,  with 
pauses  between  the  sentences.  "Madame  sat  here, 
by  the  window,  because  she  liked  to  look  out  at  the 
terrace,  and  the  garden  her  Italian  mother  had  made. 
Madame  was  beautiful  then — like  a  picture,  though 
her  hair  was  too  white  to  need  powder.  She  had  little 
hands,  soft  like  a  child's  hands;  but  her  eyes  looked 
through  you,  and  at  once  you  thought  of  all  the  bad 
things  you  had  ever  done  or  thought.  It  was  worse 
than  confession,  for  there  was  no  absolution  afterwards. " 
She  paused  and  moved  a  step  or  two. 

"  I  sat  here.  The  hours  I  have  read  to  her,  or  worked 
whilst  she  was  busy  with  her  letters!" 

"You!"  said  Aline,  surprised. 

"Yes,  I,  her  godchild,  and  a  pet  until — come  then, 
child,  until  I  forgot  I  was  on  the  same  footing  as  cat  or 
dog,  petted  for  their  looks,  and  presumed  to  find  a 
common  humanity  in  myself  and  her.  Ah,  Marraine, 
it  was  you  who  made  me  a  Republican.  Oh,  my  child, 
pride  is  an  evil  god  to  serve!  Don't  sacrifice  your  life 
to  him  as  mine  was  sacrificed." 

She  crossed  hastily  to  the  door  as  she  spoke,  and  they 
came  through  a  corridor  to  the  great  stairs,  where  the 
darkness  seemed  to  lie  in  solid  blocks,  and  the  faint 
lantern  light  showed  just  one  narrow  path  on  which  to 
set  their  feet.  And  on  that  path  the  dust  lay  thick; 
here  drifted  into  mounds,  and  there  spread  desert- 
smooth  along  the  broad,  shallow  steps,  eloquent  of 
19 


290       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

desolation  indescribable.  But  on  the  centre  of  the  grey 
smoothness  was  a  footmark — very  small  and  lonely- 
looking.  It  seemed  to  make  the  gloom  more  eerie,  the 
stillness  more  terrible,  and  the  two  women  kept  close 
together  as  they  went  up  the  stair. 

At  the  top  another  corridor,  and  then  a  door  in  front 
of  which  Ange  hesitated  long.  Twice  she  put  out  her 
hand,  and  twice  drew  back,  until  at  last  it  was  Aline 
who  lifted  the  latch  and  drew  her  through  the  doorway. 
Darkness  and  silence. 

Across  that  room,  and  to  another.  Darkness  and 
silence  still.  At  the  third  door  Ange  came  forward 
again. 

"It  is  past,"  she  said,  half  to  herself,  and  went  in 
before  Aline. 

Whilst  the  west  was  all  in  darkness,  this  long  east 
room  fronted  the  rising  moon,  and  the  shimmer  of  it 
lay  full  across  the  chamber,  making  it  light  as  day. 
Here  the  dust  had  been  lately  disturbed,  for  it  hung 
like  a  mist  in  the  air,  and  its  shining  particles  floated  all 
a-glitter  in  the  broad  wash  of  silver.  Full  in  the  moon- 
light stood  a  great  canopied  bed,  its  crimson  hangings 
all  wrenched  away,  and  trailing  to  the  dusty  floor,  where 
they  lay  like  some  ineffaceable  stain  of  rusting  blood. 
On  the  dark  hearth  a  handful  of  sticks  burned  to  a  dull 
red  ash,  and  between  fire  and  moon  there  was  a  chair. 
It  stood  in  to  the  hearth,  as  if  for  warmth,  but  aslant 
so  that  the  moon  shaft  lay  across  it. 

Ange  set  down  the  lantern  and  took  a  quick  step 
forward,  crying,  "Madame!"  Something  stirred  in  the 
tattered  chair,  something  grey  amongst  the  grey  of  the 
shadows.  It  was  like  the  movement  of  the  roused  spider, 
for  here  was  the  web,  all  dust  and  moonshine,  and  here, 
secret  and  fierce,  grey  and  elusive,  lurked  the  weaver. 


Return  of  Two  Fugitives  291 

The  shape  in  the  chair  leaned  forward,  and  the  oldest 
woman's  face  she  had  ever  seen  looked  at  Aline  across 
the  moted  moonlight.  The  face  was  all  grey;  the  bony- 
ridge  above  the  deep  eye-pits,  the  wrinkled  skin  that  lay 
beneath,  the  shrivelled,  discoloured  lips — plainly  this 
was  a  woman  not  only  old,  but  dying.  Then  the  lids 
lifted,  and  Aline  could  have  screamed,  for  the  movement 
showed  eyes  as  smoulderingly  bright  as  the  sudden 
sparks  which  fly  up  from  grey  ash  that  should  be  cold, 
but  has  still  a  heart  of  flame  if  stirred.  They  spoke 
of  the  indomitable  will  which  had  dragged  this  old, 
frail  woman  here  to  die. 

Through  the  silence  came  a  mere  thread  of  a  voice — 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  I  am  Ange  Desaix. " 

The  shrivelled  fingers  picked  at  the  shrouding  shawl. 
Aline,  watching  uneasily,  saw  the  pinched  face  fall  into  a 
new  arrangement  of  wrinkles.  The  mouth  opened  like 
a  pit,  and  from  it  came  an  attenuated  sound.  With 
creeping  flesh  she  realised  that  this  was  a  laugh — 
Madame  was  laughing. 

"Ange  Desaix,  Ange  Desaix, — Rene's  Angel.  Oh, 
la  belle  comedie!" 

"Madame!"  the  sound  came  like  a  sob,  and  in  a 
flash  Aline  guessed  how  long  it  was  since  any  one  had 
named  Ren^  de  Montenay  before  this  woman  who  had 
loved  him.  After  the  silence  of  nearly  forty  years  it 
stabbed  her  like  a  sword  thrust. 

Again  that  faint  sound  like  the  echo  of  laughter  long 
dead: 

"My  compliments,  Mile  Desaix.  Will  you  not  be 
seated,  and  let  me  know  to  what  I  owe  the  pleasure  of 
this  visit?  But  you  are  not  alone.  Who  is  that  with 
you?     Come  here!" 


292       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

Aline  crossed  the  room  obediently. 

"Who  are  you?"  said  the  faint  voice  again,  and  the 
burning  eyes  looked  searchingly  into  her  face. 

Something  stirred  in  Aline.  This  old  wreck  of  woman- 
hood was  not  only  of  her  order,  but  of  her  kin.  Before 
she  knew  it  she  heard  her  own  voice  say : 

"I  am  Aline  de  Rochambeau. " 

Ange  Desaix  gave  a  great  start.  She  had  guessed, — 
but  this  was  certainty,  and  the  shock  took  her  breath. 
From  the  chair  a  minute,  tiny  hand  was  beckoning. 

"Rochambeau,  Rochambeau.  I  know  all  the  Ro- 
chambeau — Rene  de  Rochambeau  was  my  first  cousin, 
for  I  was  a  Montenay  born,  you  know.  He  and  his 
brother  were  the  talk  of  the  town  when  I  was  young. 
They  married  the  twin  heiresses  of  old  M.  de  Vivonne, 
and  every  one  sang  the  catch  which  M.  de  Coulanges 
made — 

'Fiers  et  beaux,  les  Rochambeau; 
Fiere  et  bonnes,  les  belles  Vivonne. ' 

Whose  daughter  are  you?" 

Aline  knelt  by  the  chair  and  kissed  the  little  claw 
where  a  diamond  shone  from  the  gold  circlet  which  was 
so  much  too  loose. 

"Ren^  de  Rochambeau  was  my  grandfather,"  she 
said. 

"Well,  he  would  have  thought  you  a  pretty  girl. 
Beauty  never  came  amiss  to  a  Rochambeau,  and  you 
have  your  share.  We  are  kinsfolk,  Mademoiselle, 
and  in  other  circumstances,  I  should  have  wished — have 
wished — "  she  drew  her  hand  away  impatiently  and 
put  it  to  her  head.  "Who  said  that  Ange  Desaix  was 
here?  Why  does  she  come  now?  Rene  is  dead,  and 
I  have  no  more  sons;  I  am  really  a  little  at  a  loss." 


Return  of  Two  Fugitives  293 

The  words  which  should  have  sounded  pathetic  came 
in  staccato  mockery,  and  Aline  sprang  np  in  indignation, 
but  even  as  she  moved  Mile  Ange  spoke. 

"Let  the  past  alone,  Madame,"  she  said  slowly. 
"Believe,  if  you  can,  that  I  have  come  to  help  you. 
You  are  not  alone?" 

"I  have  Louise,  but  she — really,  I  forget  where  she 
is  at  present,  but  she  is  not  cooking,  for  we  have  nothing 
to  cook.  It  is  as  well  that  I  have  come  here  to  die,  since 
for  that  there  are  always  conveniences.  One  dies  more 
comfortably  chez  soi.  In  fact,  unless  one  had  the 
honour  of  dying  on  the  field  of  battle,  there  is  to  my  mind 
something  bourgeois  about  dying  in  a  strange  place* 
At  least,  it  has  never  been  our  habit.  Now  I  recollect 
when  R^ne  was  dying — dear  me,  how  many  years  ago 
it  is  now?" 

"It  is  thirty-seven  years  ago,"  said  Ange  Desaix  in 
low  muffled  tones. 

"Thank  you,  Mademoiselle,  you  are  quite  correct. 
Well,  thirty-seven  years  ago,  3^ou,  with  that  excellent 
memory  of  yours,  will  recall  how  I  brought  my  son 
R^ne  here,  that  he  might  die  at  home." 

"Yes,"  said  Ange.  "You  brought  him  home  that 
he  might  die." 

The  slight  change  of  words  was  an  accusation,  and 
there  was  a  moment's  silence,  broken  by  an  almost 
inaudible  whisper  from  Mile  Ange. 

"Thirty-seven  years.     Oh,  mon  Dieu!" 

The  tremulous  grey  head  moved  a  little,  bent  forward, 
and  was  propped  by  a  shaking  hand,  but  Madame's 
eyes  shone  unalterably  amused. 

"Yes,  my  dear  Ange,  he  died — unmarried;  and  I  had 
the  consolations  of  religion,  and  also  of  knowing  that  a 
mesalliance  is  not  possible  in  the  grave." 


294      A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

Ange  Desaix  started  forward  with  a  sob. 

"And  have  you  never  repented,  Madame,  have  you 
never  repented?  Never  thought  that  you  might  have 
had  his  children  about  your  knees?  That  night,  when  I 
saw  him  die,  I  said,  '  God  will  punish, '  and  are  you  not 
punished?  You  have  neither  son  nor  grandson;  you 
are  childless  as  I  am  childless;  you  are  alone  and  the 
last  of  your  line!" 

The  sudden  fire  transfigured  her,  and  she  looked  like 
a  prophetess.  Madame  de  Montenay  stared  at  her  and 
fell  to  fidgeting  with  her  shawl. 

"  I  am  too  old  for  scenes, "  she  said  fretfully.  "  Ren^ 
was  a  fool — a  fool.  I  never  interfered  with  his  amuse- 
ments, but  marriage — that  is  not  an  affair  for  oneself 
alone.  Did  he  think  I  should  permit?  But  it  is 
enough,  he  is  dead,  and  I  think  you  forget  yourself, 
Ange  Desaix,  when  you  come  to  my  house  and  talk  to 
me  in  such  a  strain.     I  should  like  to  be  alone. " 

The  old  imperious  note  swelled  the  thin  voice;  the 
old  imperiovis  gesture  raised  the  trembling  hand.  Even 
in  her  recoil  Aline  felt  a  faint  thrill  of  admiration  as  for 
something  indomitable,  indestructible. 

Ange  swept  through  the  door. 

"Ah!"  she  said  with  a  long  shuddering  breath,  "ah, 
mon  Dieu!  mon  Dieu!"  All  her  beautiful  dreamy 
expression  was  gone.  "Ah!  what  a  coward  I  am;  even 
now,  even  now  she  frightens  me,  cows  me,"  and  she 
leaned  panting  against  the  wall,  whilst  Aline  closed  the 
door. 

Out  of  the  darkness  Marguerite  came  trembling. 

"Aline,  what  is  it?"  she  whispered.  "I  heard  you, 
and  came  as  far  as  the  door,  and  then.  Holy  Virgin, 
is  n't  she  terrible?  She  makes  me  cold  like  ice,  and  her 
laugh,  it  's — oh,  one  does  not  know  how  to  bear  it!" 


Return  of  Two  Fugitives  295 

Mile  Ange  turned,  collecting  herself. 

"Is  it  Louise?"  she  asked. 

"No,  I  am  Marguerite  de  Matigny.  Louise  is  in  the 
corridor." 

"Let  us  come  away  from  here,"  said  Aline,  taking 
the  lantern,  and  they  hastened  through  the  two  dark 
roon;3,  meeting  Louise  at  the  farthest  door.  She  was 
a  tall,  haggard  woman,  with  loose  grey  hair  and  restless, 
terrified  eyes.  Mile  Ange  drew  her  aside,  whispering, 
and  after  a  moment  the  fear  went  out  of  her  face, 
leaving  a  sallow  exhaustion  in  its  place. 

"It  is  a  miracle,"  she  was  saying  as  Aline  and  Mar- 
guerite joined  them.  "The  saints  know  how  we  got 
here.  I  remember  nothing,  I  am  too  tired ;  and  Madame, 
— how  she  is  not  dead!  Nothing  would  hold  her,  when 
the  doctor  told  her  she  had  a  mortal  complaint.  If  you 
know  Madame,  you  will  know  that  she  laughed.  *  Mon 
Dieu,*  she  said  to  me,  *I  have  had  one  mortal  com- 
plaint for  ten  years  now,  and  that  is  old  age,  but  since 
he  says  I  have  another,  no  doubt  he  is  right,  and  the 
two  together  will  kill  me.'  Then  she  said,  'Pack  my 
mail,  Louise,  for  I  do  not  choose  to  die  here,  where  no 
one  has  ever  heard  of  the  Montenay. '  'But,  Mademoi- 
selle,' I  vSaid,  and  Madame  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
'  But  the  Terror, '  I  said,  and  indeed,  Ma'mselle,  I  went 
on  my  knees  to  her,  but  if  you  think  she  cared!  Not 
the  least  in  the  world,  and  here  we  are,  and  God  knows 
what  comes  next!  I  am  afraid,  very  much  afraid, 
Ma'mselle." 

"Yes,  and  so  am  I,"  whispered  Marguerite,  pinching 
Aline's  arm.  "It  is  really  dreadful  here.  La  tante 
mad,  and  this  old  house  all  ghosts  and  horrors,  and 
nothing  to  eat,  it  is  triste, — yes,  I  can  tell  you  it  is 
triste." 


296       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"We  will  come  again,"  said  Aline,  kissing  her,  "and 
at  least  there  is  food  here." 

"Yes,  take  the  basket,  Louise,"  said  Mile  Ange, 
"and  now  we  must  go. " 

"Oh,  no,  don't  go,"  cried  Marguerite.  "Stay  just  a 
little — "  but  Louise  broke  in 

"No,  no,  Ma'mselle,  let  them  go.  Madame  would 
not  be  pleased.  I  thought  I  heard  her  call  just  now." 
She  shrugged  her  shoulders  expressively,  and  Marguerite 
released  her  friend  with  a  little  sobbing  kiss. 

"Come,  Aline,"  said  Mile  Ange  with  dignity,  and 
they  went  down  the  echoing  stair  in  silence. 

Neither  spoke  for  a  long  while.  Then  amongst  the 
deeper  shadows  of  the  wood  Aline  heard  a  curiously 
strained  voice  say: 

"So  you  are  Rochambeau,  and  noble?" 

"Yes." 

"Marthe  said  so  from  the  first;  she  is  always  right." 

"Yes." 

A  little  pause,  and  then  Ange  said  passionately : 

"What  made  you  give  that  name?  Are  you  ashamed 
to  be  called  Dangeau?" 

"She  was  so  old,  and  of  my  kin;  I  said  the  name 
that  she  would  know.  Oh,  I  do  not  know  why  I  said 
it,"  faltered  Aline. 

"Does  he  know  it,  Jacques?" 

"Yes,  oh  yes!" 

"He  knew  before  you  were  married?" 

"Yes,  always;  he  has  been  so  good." 

"So  good,  and  you  his  wife,  and  could  deny  his  name! 
I  do  not  understand  you.  Aline  de  Rochambeau." 

Aline  flushed  scarlet  in  the  darkness.  Her  own 
name  spoken  thus  seemed  to  set  a  bruise  upon  her 
heart. 


1^ 


Return  of  Two  Fugitives  297 

"It  was  not  that,"  she  cried:  "I  do  not  know  why  I 
said  it,  but  it  was  not  to  deny — him." 

Her  voice  sank  very  low,  and  something  in  it  made 
Ange  halt  a  moment  and  say : 

"Aline,  do  you  love  Jacques?" 

Aline's  hand  went  to  her  breast. 

"Yes,"  she  said  under  her  breath,  and  thought  the 
whole  wood  echoed  with  the  one  soft  word. 

"And  does  he  know  that  too?"  The  questioning 
voice  had  sunk  again  to  gentleness. 

"No,  no— oh,  no." 

"Poor  child,"  said  Agnes  Desaix,  and  after  that  they 
spoke  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
BURNING   OF   THE  ChAtEAU 

MLLE  MARTHE  lay  in  the  dusk  frowning  and 
knitting  her  brows  until  they  made  a  straight 
dark  line  over  her  restless  eyes.  A  sense  of  angry 
impotence  possessed  her  and  found  expression  in  a  con- 
tinual sharp  movement  of  head  and  hand;  the  stabbing 
physical  pain  evoked  was  sheer  relief  to  the  strained 
mind.  Two  days  had  now  passed  since  the  first  ex- 
pedition to  the  chateau,  and  every  hour  of  them  had 
vSeemed  more  heavily  weighted  with  impending  danger. 
Nothing  would  persuade  Mme  de  Montenay  to  move, 
or  Ange  to  leave  her  to  her  fate.  Louise  was  tearful, 
and  useless;  Marguerite,  a  lonely  child,  terrified  of  the 
great  shadowed  rooms,  and  clinging  eagerly  to  her 
friend; — a  complication,  in  fact,  which  roused  Mile 
Marthe's  anger  more  than  all  the  rest,  since  even  her 
resolution  recoiled  from  the  abandonment  of  a  young 
girl,  who  had  no  share  in  Mme  de  Montenay's  ob- 
stinacy. Marthe  fretted,  turned  a  little,  groaned,  and 
bit  her  lip. 

As  the  door  opened  she  looked  up  sharply,  but  it 
was  only  Jeanne,  who  came  to  ask  her  if  she  should 
light  the  lamp,  and  got  a  snappish  "No!"  for  answer. 

"It  is  dark,  Ma'mselle,"  she  said. 

"  I  will  wait  till  they  come  in.  '* 
298 


Burning  of  the  Chateau  299 

"Eh — it  's  queer  weather,  and  a  queer  time  of  day 
to  be  out,"  muttered  Jeanne  sulkily. 

"  Madame  is  young;  she  needs  exercise, "  said  Marthe, 
prompted  by  something  in  the  woman's  tone. 

"Ah,  yes,  exercise,"  said  Jeanne  in  a  queer  voice, 
and  she  went  out,  shutting  the  door  sharply.  Mile 
Marthe's  thoughts  kept  tone  with  the  darkening  sky. 
Her  eyes  watched  the  door  with  an  anxious  stare.  When 
at  last  Ange  and  Aline  came  in  snow-sprinkled  and  warm, 
her  temper  was  fretted  to  a  sharp  edge,  and  she  spoke 
with  quick  impatience. 

"Mon  Dieu,  how  long  you  have  been!  If  you  must 
go,  you  must,  but  there  is  no  occasion  to  stay  and  stay, 
until  I  am  beside  myself  with  wondering  what  has 
happened!" 

Ange  threw  off  her  wet  cloak  and  bent  to  kiss  her 
sister.  "Oh,  my  dearest,  has  it  been  so  long?"  she 
said.  "Why,  I  thought  we  were  being  so  quick,  and 
that  you  would  commend  us.  We  did  not  wait  at  all, 
only  gave  the  food  to  Louise  and  came  straight  back. 
Has  the  pain  been  bad  then,  my  poor  darling?  Have 
you  wanted  anything?" 

Marthe  pushed  her  away  with  an  angry  jerk. 

"What  I  want  is  a  way  out  of  this  abominable  situa- 
tion," she  exclaimed.  "If  you  had  any  common- 
sense,  Ange — the  slightest  instinct  of  self-preservation 
— but  no,  you  will  sacrifice  all  our  lives  to  that  wicked 
old  woman,  and  then  flatter  yourself  that  you  have  done 
something  to  be  proud  of.  Come  here  to  die,  has  she? 
Heavens,  she  11  outlive  us  all,  and  then  go  happy  in  the 
thought  that  she  has  contrived  to  do  a  little  more 
mischief  before  the  end!" 

Ange  winced,  but  only  said  gently; 

"Dearest,  don't." 


300       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"There,  Ange,  I  Ve  no  patience!  I  tell  you  we  are 
all  on  the  brink  of  ruin.     Madelon  has  been  here." 

"Madelon?  Ah,  the  dear  child.  It  is  so  long  since 
I  have  really  seen  her.  I  am  sorry  to  have  missed  her. 
Was  she  well?" 

Mile  Marthe  caught  her  sister's  hand  and  pressed  it 
until  she  cried  out,  "Marthe,  you  are  hurting  me!" 

"Ange!  Sometimes  I  could  swear  at  you!  For 
Heaven's  sake  think  of  yourself  for  a  few  moments, 
or  if  that  is  asking  too  much,  think  of  Aline,  think  of  me. 
Madelon  came  here  because  her  father  sent  her!" 

"Her  father  sent  her!  Marthe,  dearest,  don't — that 
hurts." 

"I  mean  it  to.     Yes,  her  father " 

"But  why.     I  don't  understand." 

Aline  had  been  lighting  the  lamp.  She  looked  up 
now,  and  the  yellow  flare  showed  the  trouble  in  her  face. 

"Oh,  ma  tante,"  she  breathed. 

"Yes,  child.     Ange,  wake  up;  don't  you  realise?" 

"Mathieu  suspects?"  asked  Aline  quickly.  "But 
how?" 

"He  saw  you  take  the  path  to  the  chateau  the  other 
day.  Saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  a  light  in  the  west  wing 
last  night,  and  sent  Madelon  to  find  out  how  much  we 
knew.  A  mischief-maker  Mathieu,  and  a  bad  man, — 
devil  take  him." 

"Oh,  Marthe,  don't.  Madelon, — Madelon  is  as  true 
as  steel." 

"Oh,  yes,  but  mightily  afraid  of  her  father.  She  sat 
here  with  her  round  cheeks  as  white  as  curds,  and  cried, 
and  begged  me  not  to  tell  her  anything ; — as  if  I  should 
be  such  a  fool." 

"Ah,  poor  Madelon,"  said  Ange,  "she  must  not 
distress  herself  like  that,  it  is  so  bad  for  her  just  now." 


Burning  of  the  Chateau  301 

Marthe  ground  her  teeth. 

"Ange,  I  won't  have  it — I  won't.  I  tell  you  all 
our  lives  are  at  stake,  and  you  discuss  Madelon's 
health." 

"My  dearest,  don't  be  vexed;  indeed,  I  am  trying  to 
think  what  can  be  done. " 

"Now,  Ange,  listen  to  me.  If  you  will  go  on  with 
this  mad  business,  there  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done. 
I  have  thought  it  all  out.  They  must  do  with  as  little 
as  possible,  and  you  must  not  go  there  oftener  than 
once  in  four  days.  You  will  go  at  eleven  o'clock  at 
night  when  there  is  no  one  abroad,  and  Louise  will 
meet  you  half-way  and  take  the  basket  on.  There 
must  be  no  other  communication  of  any  sort :  you  hear 
me.  Aline?" 

"Yes,"  said  Aline,  "I  think  you  are  quite  right." 

"That  is  always  a  consolation."  Marthe's  voice 
took  a  sarcastic  tone.     "Now,  Ange,  do  you  agree?" 

"If  you  really  think " 

"Why,  yes,  I  do.  Ange,  I  'm  a  cross  animal,  but  I 
can't  see  you  throw  your  life  away  and  not  say  a  word. 
I  'm  a  useless  cripple  enough,  but  I  have  the  use  of  my 
tongue.     Will  you  promise?'* 

"Well— yes." 

"That 's  right.  Now  for  goodness  let 's  talk  about 
something  else.  If  there  's  going  to  be  trouble  it  will 
come,  and  we  need  n't  go  over  and  over  it  all  before 
it  does  come.  Aline,  do,  for  the  love  of  heaven,  re- 
member that  I  cannot  bear  the  light  in  my  eyes  like  that. 
Put  the  lamp  over  here,  behind  me,  and  then  you  can 
take  a  book  and  read  aloud  so  as  to  give  us  all  a  chance 
of  composing  our  minds." 

Aline  waked  late  that  night.  All  the  surface  calm 
in  her  had  been  broken  up  by  the  events  of  the  last 


302       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

few  days.  The  slight  sprinkling  of  snow  had  ceased, 
but  there  was  a  high  wind  abroad,  and  as  it  complained 
amongst  the  stripped  and  creaking  woods,  it  seemed  to 
voice  the  yearning  that  strained  the  very  fibres  of  her 
being. 

She  stood  at  midnight  and  looked  out.  Very  high 
and  pale  rode  the  moon,  and  the  driving  cloud  wrack 
swept  like  shallow,  eddying  water  across  the  one  clear 
space  of  sky  in  which  she  queened  it.  All  below  was 
dense,  dull,  cloud  mass,  darkening  to  the  hill  slope, 
and  the  black  sighing  woodland.  Thoughts  drove  in 
her  brain,  like  the  driving  cloud.  Sadness  of  life, 
imminence  of  death,  shortness  of  love.  She  had  seen 
an  ugly  side  of  ancestral  pride  in  these  two  days,  and 
suddenly  she  glimpsed  a  vision  of  herself  grown  old 
and  grey,  looking  back  along  the  interminable  years  to 
the  time  when  she  had  sacrificed  youth  and  love.  Then 
it  would  be  too  late.  Life  was  irrevocable;  but  now — 
now?  She  threw  open  her  window  and  leaned  far 
out,  drawing  the  strong  air  into  her  lungs,  whilst  the 
wind  caught  her  hair  and  spread  it  all  abroad.  The 
spirit  of  life,  of  youth,  cried  to  her,  and  she  stretched 
her  arms  wide  and  mingled  her  voice  with  its  voice. 
"Jacques!"  she  called  under  her  breath,  "Jacques!" 
and  then  as  suddenly  she  drew  back  trembling  and  hid 
her  face  in  her  cold  hands. 

She  did  not  know  how  the  time  passed  after  that, 
but  when  she  looked  up  again  there  was  a  faint  glow 
in  the  sky.  She  watched  it  curiously,  thinking  for  a 
moment  that  it  was  the  dawn,  and  then  aware  that 
morning  must  still  be  far  away. 

A  tinge  of  rose  brightened  the  cloud  bank  over  the 
hill,  and  at  its  edge  the  ether  showed  blue.  Then 
quite  suddenly  a  tongue  of  fire  flared  above  the  trees 


Burning  of  the  Chateau  303 

and  sank  again.  As  the  flames  rose  a  second  time 
Ange  Desaix  was  in  the  room. 

"Aline!  The  chateau!  It  is  on  fire!"  she  cried. 
"Oh,  mon  Dieu,  what  shall  we  do?" 

They  ran  out,  wrapped  hastily  in  muffling  cloaks,  and 
as  they  climbed  the  hill  Ange  spoke  in  gasps. 

"They  must  have  seen  it  in  the  village  before  we 
did.  All  the  world  will  be  there.  Oh,  that  poor 
child!     God  help  us  all!" 

"Oh,  come  quickly!"  cried  Aline,  and  they  took 
hands  and  ran.  The  slope  once  mounted,  the  path  so 
dark  a  few  hours  back  was  illuminated.  A  red,  un- 
natural dusk  filled  the  wood,  and  against  it  the  trees 
stretched  great  black  groping  arms.  The  sky  was  like 
the  reflection  from  some  huge  furnace,  and  all  the  way 
the  fire  roared  in  the  rising  wind. 

"How  could  it  have  happened?  Do  you  think, — 
oh,  do  you  suppose  this  is  what  she  meant  to  do?" 
Aline  asked  once,  and  Ange  gave  a  sort  of  sob  as  she 
answered : 

"Oh,  my  dear,  God  knows, — but  I  'm  afraid  so,"  and 
then  they  pushed  on  again  in  silence. 

They  came  out  of  the  bridle-path  into  the  cypress 
walk  that  led  to  Madame's  Italian  garden.  At  a  turn 
the  flaming  building  came  into  view  for  the  first  time. 
South  and  east  it  burned  furiously,  but  the  west  front, 
that  which  faced  them,  was  still  intact,  though  the 
smoke;  eddied  about  it,  and  a  dull  glare  from  the  win- 
dows spoke  of  rooms  beyond  that  were  already  in  the 
grip  of  the  flames.  Between  low  hedges  of  box  the  two 
pressed  on,  and  climbed  the  terrace  steps. 

Here  the  heat  drove  to  meet  them  full  of  stinging 
particles  of  grit.  The  hot  blast  dried  the  skin  and 
stung  the  eyes.     The  wind  blew  strongly  from  the  east, 


304      A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

but  every  now  and  then  it  veered,  and  then  the  fire 
lapped  round  the  corner  and  was  blown  out  in  long 
dreadful  tongues,  which  licked  the  walls  as  if  tasting 
them,  and  threw  a  crimson  glare  along  the  dark  west 
wing.  Great  sparks  like  flashes  of  flame  flew  high  and 
far,  and  the  dense  reek  made  breathing  painful. 

"Look!"  said  Aline,  catching  her  companion  by  the 
arm,  and  pointing.  From  where  they  stood  the  broad 
south  terrace  was  full  in  view,  and  the  fire  lighted  it 
brilliantly.  Below  it,  where  the  avenue  ceased,  was  a 
small  crowd  of  dark  gesticulating  figures,  intent  on  the 
blazing  pile. 

"They  can't  see  us,"  said  Ange;  "but  come  this  way, 
here,  where  the  statue  screens  us." 

They  paused  a  moment,  leaning  against  the  pedestal 
where  a  white  Diana  lifted  an  arrow  against  the  glare. 
Then  both  cried  out  simultaneously,  for  driven  by  a 
sudden  gust  the  smoke  wreaths  parted,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment they  saw  at  a  window  above  them  a  moving 
whiteness, — an  arm  thrust  oat,  only  to  fall  again,  and 
hang  with  fatal  limpness  across  the  sill. 

"Ah,  it  was  Marguerite,"  cried  Aline  with  catching 
breath.     " I  saw  her  face.     Marguerite!     Marguerite!" 

"Hush!"  said  Mile  Ange.  "It  is  no  use  calling. 
She  has  fainted.  Thank  God  she  came  this  way. 
There  is  a  stair  if  I  could  only  find  it.  Once  I  knew 
it  well  enough." 

As  she  spoke  she  hurried  into  the  smoke,  and  Aline 
followed,  gasping. 

"Your  cloak  over  your  face,  child,  and  remember  you 
must  not  faint." 

How  they  gained  the  boudoir.  Aline  hardly  knew,  but 
she  found  herself  there  with  the  smoke  all  round, 
pressing  on  her  like  a  solid  thing,  blinding,  stinging, 


Burning  of  the  Chateau  305 

choking.  Ahead  of  her  Mile  Ange  groped  along  the 
wall.  Once  she  staggered,  but  with  a  great  effort  kept 
on,  and  at  last  stopped  and  pressed  with  all  her  strength. 

In  the  darkness  appeared  a  darker  patch,  and  then, 
just  as  Aline's  throbbing  senses  seemed  about  to  fail  her, 
she  felt  her  hand  caught,  she  was  pulled  through  a 
narrow  opening,  her  feet  felt  steps,  mounted  instinctively, 
and  her  lungs  drew  in  a  long,  long  breath  of  relief,  for 
here  the  smoke  had  hardly  penetrated,  and  the  air, 
though  heavy,  was  quite  fit  to  breathe.  For  a  moment 
they  halted  and  then  climbed  on.  The  stair  went 
steeply  up,  wound  to  the  left,  and  ceased.  Then  again 
Ange  stood  feeling  for  the  catch  with  fingers  that  had 
known  it  well  enough  in  the  dead  days.  Now  they 
hesitated,  tried  here  and  there,  failed  of  the  secret,  and 
went  groping  to  and  fro,  until  Aline's  blood  beat  in  her 
throat,  and  she  could  have  cried  out  with  fear  and 
impatience.  The  moment  seemed  interminable,  and 
the  smoke  mounted  behind  them  in  ever-thickening 
whirls. 

"It  was  here,  mon  Dieu,  what  has  become  of  it?  So 
many  years  ago,  but  I  thought  I  could  have  found  it 
blindfold.  R6ne  showing  me, — his  hand  on  mine — ah, 
at  last, "  and  with  that  the  murmuring  voice  ceased,  and 
the  panelling  slipped  smoothly  back,  letting  in  more 
smoke,  to  press  like  a  nightmare  upon  their  already 
labouring  lungs.  Through  it  the  window  showed  a  red 
square,  against  which  was  outlined  a  white,  huddled 
shape.  It  was  Marguerite,  who  lay  just  as  she  had 
fallen,  head  bowed,  one  hand  thrust  out,  the  other  at  her 
throat.  Ange  and  Aline  stood  by  her  for  a  moment 
leaning  from  the  window,  and  taking  in  what  air  they 
might,  and  then  the  confusion  and  the  stumbling  began 
once  more,  only  this  time  they  had  a  weight  to  carry,  and 


3o6       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

could  shield  neither  eyes  nor  lungs  from  the  pervading 
smoke.  Twice  they  stopped,  and  twice  that  dreadful 
roar  of  the  fire,  a  roar  that  drowned  even  the  heavy  beat 
of  their  burdened  pulses,  drove  them  on  again,  until  at 
last  they  stumbled  out  upon  the  terrace,  and  there 
halted,  gasping  terribly.  The  intolerable  heat  dripped 
from  them  in  a  black  sweat,  and  for  a  while  they  crouched 
trembling  in  every  limb.  Then  Ange  whispered  with 
dry  lips : 

"We  must  go  on.     This  is  not  safe." 

They  staggered  forward  once  more,  and  even  as  they 
did  so  there  was  a  most  appalling  crash,  and  the  flames 
rushed  up  like  a  pyramid  to  heaven,  making  all  the 
countryside  light  with  a  red  travesty  of  day.  Urged  by 
terror,  and  with  a  final  effort,  they  dragged  Marguerite 
down  the  steps,  and  on,  until  they  sank  at  last  exhausted 
under  a  cypress  which  watched  the  pool  where  the 
fountain  played  no  more. 

In  a  minute  or  two  Aline  recovered  sufficiently  to  wet 
the  hem  of  her  cloak  and  bathe  Marguerite's  face. 
This  and  the  cold  air  brought  her  to  with  a  shudder 
and  a  cry.     She  sat  up  coughing,  and  clung  to  Aline. 

"Oh,  save  me,  save  me!" 

"Cherie,  you  are  saved." 

"And  they  are  burnt.  Oh,  Holy  Virgin,  I  shall  see 
it  always. " 

"Don't  talk  of  it,  my  dear!" 

"Oh,  I  must.  I  saw  it,  Aline;  I  saw  it!  There  was 
a  little  thread  of  fire  that  ran  up  Louise's  skirt,  like  a 
gold  wire.     Oh,  mon  Dieu!     They  are  burnt." 

"Madame?"  asked  Ange,  very  low. 

"Yes,  yes;  and  Louise,  poor  Louise!  I  was  so  cross 
with  her  last  night ;  but  I  did  n't  know.  I  would  n't 
have  been  if  I  had  known.     Oh,  poor  Louise!" 


Burning  of  the  Chateau  307 

**Tell  us  what  happened,  my  dear,  if  you  can." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know."  Marguerite  hid  her  face  a 
moment,  and  then  spoke  excitedly,  pushing  back  her 
dishevelled  hair.  "I  woke  up  with  the  smoke  in  my 
throat,  and  ran  in  to  la  tante's  room.  She  had  n't  gone 
to  bed  at  all.  There  she  was  in  her  big  chair,  sitting 
up  straight,  Louise  on  her  knees  begging  her  to  get  up, 
and  all  between  the  boards  of  the  floor  there  was  smoke 
coming  up,  as  if  there  were  a  great  fire  underneath. " 

"Underneath!     It  began  below,  then?" 

"Yes,  Aline,  she  did  it  herself!  She  must  have  crept 
down  and  set  light  in  ever  so  many  places.  Yes,  it  is 
true,  for  she  boasted  of  it.  *  Ange  Desaix  says  I  am  the 
last  of  the  Montenay.  Very  well,  then;  she  shall  see, 
and  the  world  shall  see,  how  Montenay  and  I  will  go 
together! '  That  is  what  she  said,  and  Louise  screamed, 
'Save  yourself,  Ma'mselle!'  But  la  tante  nodded  and 
said,  'Yes,  if  you  have  wings,  use  them,  by  all  means.' 
It  was  like  some  perfectly  horrid  dream.  I  ran 
through  the  rooms  to  see  if  I  could  get  down  the  stairs, 
but  they  were  all  in  a  blaze.  Then  I  ran  back  again; 
but  when  I  was  still  some  way  from  the  door  I  saw  that 
the  fire  was  coming  up  through  the  floor.  Louise  gave 
one  great  scream,  but  la  tante  just  sat  and  smiled,  and 
then  the  floor  gave  way,  and  they  went  down  with  a 
crash.     Oh,  Aline — Aline!'* 

"Oh,  Marguerite,  my  dear — and  you?" 

Marguerite  shuddered. 

"I  ran  across  the  corridor  and  into  the  farthest 
room,  and  the  smoke  came  after  me,  and  I  fainted,  and 
then  you  came  and  saved  me." 

"Hush!  there  is  some  one  coming,"  said  Mile  Ange 
in  a  quick  whisper. 

They  crouched  down  and  waited  breathlessly.     Then, 


3o8       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

after  an  agonised  struggle,  Marguerite  coughed,  and  at 
once  a  dark  figure  bore  down  on  them. 

"Thank  the  Saints  I  have  found  you, "  said  Madelon's 
voice. 

AHne  sprang  up. 

"Madelon — you?     How  did  you  know?" 

"Ah!  Bah — I  saw  you  when  you  crossed  the  ter- 
race. I  saw  you  were  carrying  some  one.  Is  it 
Madame?" 

"No,  no;  a  girl — younger  than  we  are.  Oh,  Madelon, 
you  will  help  us?" 

"Well,  at  least  I  won't  harm  you — you  know  that; 
but  you  are  safe  enough,  so  far,  for  no  one  else  saw  you. 
They  were  all  watching  1.0  see  the  roof  fall  in  over  there 
to  the  right,  and  I  should  have  been  watching  too,  only 
that  my  cousin  Anne  had  just  been  scolding  me  so  for 
being  there  at  all.  She  said  my  baby  would  have 
St.  John's  fire  right  across  his  face.  She  herself  has  a 
red  patch  over  one  eye,  and  only  because  her  mother 
would  sit  staring  at  the  embers.  Well,  I  thought  I 
would  be  prudent,  so  I  bade  Jean  Jacques  look  instead 
of  me,  and  turned  my  head  the  other  way,  and,  just 
as  the  flames  shot  up,  I  saw  you  cross  the  terrace  and 
go  down  the  steps.  And  now,  what  are  you  going  to  do 
with  Mademoiselle?" 

This  most  pertinent  question  took  them  all  aba(-k,  and 
Marguerite  looked  up  with  round,  bewildered  ey«^.s;  she 
certainly  had  no  suggestions  to  make.  At  las.  Mile 
Ange  said  slowly : 

"She  must  come  home  with  us." 

"Impossible!  No,  no,  that  would  never  doj  dear 
Ma'mselle." 

"But  there  is  nothing  else  to  be  done." 

"Oh,    there   must   be.     Why,    you    could   not    hide 


Burning  of  the  Chateau  309 

an  infant  in  your  house.  Everything  is  known  in  the 
village, — and — I  should  not  trust  Jeanne  overmuch." 

"Madelon!  Jeanne?  She  has  been  with  us  a  life- 
time." 

"Maybe,  but  she  hates  the  Montenay  more  than  she 
loves  you  and  Mile  Marthe.  Also,  she  is  jealous  of 
Madame  here,- — and — in  fact,  she  has  talked  too  much 
already." 

"Then  what  is  to  be  done?"  asked  Ange  distractedly. 
She  was  trembling  and  unnerved.  That  a  man's  foes 
could  be  they  of  his  own  household,  was  one  of  those 
horrible  truths  which  now  came  home  to  her  for  the  first 
time.  "Jeanne,"  she  kept  repeating;  "no,  it  is  not 
possible  that  Jeanne  would  do  anything  to  harm  us." 

Madelon  drew  Aline  aside. 

"Jeanne  is  an  old  beast,"  she  said  frankly.  "I 
always  said  so;  but  until  the  other  day  I  did  not  think 
she  was  unfaithful.  Now, — well,  I  only  tell  you  that 
my  father  said  she  had  given  him  '  valuable  information. ' 
What  do  you  make  of  that,  eh?" 

"What  you  do,"  said  Aline  calmly. 

"Well,  then,  what  next?" 

"What  do  you  advise?" 

"Seigneur!  Don't  put  it  on  me.  What  is  there  to 
advise?" 

As  she  spoke,  with  a  shrug  of  her  plump  shoulders, 
Marguerite  came  forward.  In  her  white  undergarment, 
with  her  brown  hair  loose  and  curling,  and  her  brown 
eyes  brimmed  with  tears,  she  looked  like  a  punished 
child.  Even  the  smuts  on  her  face  seemed  to  add 
somehow  to  the  youth  and  pathos  of  her  appearance. 

"Oh,  Aline, "  she  said,  with  a  half  sob,  "where  am  I  to 
go?  What  am  I  to  do?"  And  in  a  moment  the  mother 
in  Madelon  melted  in  her. 


3IO      A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"There,  there,  little  Ma'mselle,"  she  said  quickly, 
*' there  's  nothing  to  cry  about.  You  shall  come  along 
with  me,  and  if  I  can't  give  you  as  fine  a  bed  as  you  had 
in  this  old  gloomy  place,  at  any  rate  it  will  be  a  safer 
one,  and,  please  the  Saints,  you  '11  not  be  burnt  out  of 
it." 

"No,  no,  Madelon,  you  mustn't,"  said  Mile  Ange. 

"And  why  not,  ch^re  Ma'mselle?" 

"The  danger — your  father — your  good  husband.  It 
would  not  be  fair.  I  will  not  let  you  do  what  you  have 
just  said  would  be  so  dangerous." 

"Dangerous  for  you,  but  not  for  me.  Who  is  going 
to  suspect  me?  As  to  Jean  Jacques,  you  need  n't  be 
afraid  of  him.  Thank  God  he  is  no  meddler,  and  what 
I  do  is  right  in  his  eyes." 

"Dear  child,  he  is  a  good  husband;  but — but  just 
now  you  should  not  have  anxiety  or  run  any  risks." 

Madelon  laughed,  and  then  grew  suddenly  grave. 

"Ah,  you  mean  my  baby.  Why,  you  are  just  like 
Anne;  but  there,  Ma'mselle,  do  you  really  think  le  bon 
Dieu  would  let  my  baby  suffer  because  I  tried  to  help 
poor  little  Ma'mselle  here,  who  does  n't  look  much  more 
than  a  baby  herself?" 

Ange  kissed  her  impulsively. 

"God  bless  you,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "You  are  a 
good  woman,  Madelon." 

"Well,  then,  it  is  settled.  Here,  take  my  cloak, 
Ma'mselle.  What  is  yovu*  name?  Ma'mselle  Mar- 
guerite, then — no,  not  yours;  it  is  much  better  that  you 
should  not  come  into  the  matter  any  more,  Ma'mselle 
Ange,  nor  you,  Madame.  Ma'mselle  Marguerite  will 
put  on  my  cloak  and  come  along  with  me,  and  as  quickly 
as  possible,  since  Jean  Jacques  will  be  getting  impatient.'* 

"Where  is  he,  then?"  asked  Aline. 


Burning  of  the  Chateau  311 

"Oh,  yonder  behind  the  big  cypress.  I  left  him  there 
to  keep  a  look-out  and  tell  us  if  any  one  came  this  way. 
He  has  probably  gone  to  sleep,  my  poor  Jean  Jacques. 
It  took  me  a  quarter  of  an  hour  to  wake  him,  the  great 
sleepy  head.  He  had  no  desire  to  come,  not  he,  and  will 
be  only  too  thankful  to  be  allowed  to  go  back  to  bed 
again." 

''Now,  Ma'mselle,  are  you  ready?'* 

They  went  off  together  into  the  shadows,  and  Ange 
and  Aline  took  their  way  home  to  remove  the  smoke 
and  grime,  and  to  tell  Mile  Marthe  the  events  of  the 
night. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
ESCAPE  OF  TWO  MADCAPS 

"  \\TELL,  it  is  a  mercy,  only  what  *s  to  happen  next?  " 

V  V      said  Mile  Marthe  in  the  morning. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Aline  doubtfully. 

Marthe  caught  her  sister's  hand. 

"Now,  Ange,  promise  me  to  keep  out  of  it,  and  you, 
Aline,  I  require  you  to  do  the  same.  Madelon  is  a  most 
capable  young  woman,  and  if  she  and  Jean  Jacques 
can't  contrive  something,  yes,  and  run  next  to  no  risk 
in  doing  so,  you  may  be  sure  that  you  won't  do  any 
better.  The  sooner  the  girl  is  got  out  of  the  place  the 
better,  and  while  she  's  here,  for  Heaven's  sake  act 
with  prudence,  and  don't  go  sniffing  round  the  secret, 
like  a  dog  with  a  hidden  bone,  until  every  one  knows 
it's  there." 

"My  dearest,  you  forget  we  can't  desert  Madelon." 

"My  dear  Ange,  you  may  be  a  good  woman,  but 
sometimes  I  think  you  're  a  bit  of  a  fool.  Don't  you  see 
that  Madelon  is  not  in  the  least  danger  as  long  as  you 
keep  well  away  from  her?  Who  does  Mathieu  suspect? 
Us.  Well,  and  if  you  and  Aline  are  always  in  Madelon's 
pocket,  do  you  think  he  will  put  it  all  down  to  an  in- 
terest in  that  impending  infant  of  hers?  He  's  not  such 
a  fool, — and  I  wish  to  Heaven  you  weren't." 

This  adjuration  produced  sufficient  effect  to  make 

312 


Escape  of  Two  Madcaps  313 

Mile  Ange  pass  Madelon  on  the  road  that  very  afternoon 
with  no  more  than  a  dozen  words  on  either  side. 

"Approve  of  me,"  she  .said  laughingly  on  her  return. 
"It  was  really  very,  very  good  of  me,  for  there  were  a 
hundred  things  I  was  simply  dying  to  say." 

Mile  Marthe  was  pleased  to  smile. 

"Oh,  you  can  be  very  angelic  when  you  like,  my 
Angel.  Kindly  remember  that  goodness  is  your  r61e, 
and  stick  to  this  particiilar  version  of  it." 

"Madelon  says  the  poor  child  is  rested.  She  has  put 
her  in  the  loft  where  she  stored  her  winter  apples." 

"Sensible  girl.  Now  you  would  have  given  her  the 
best  bed,  if  it  meant  everybody's  arrest  next  moment. " 

"Oh,  if  it  pleases  you  to  say  so,  you  may,  but  I  'm  not 
really  quite  so  foolish  as  you  try  to  make  me  out. 
Mathieu  thinks  everyone  was  burnt." 

"Well,  one  hoped  he  would.  For  Heaven's  sake  keep 
out  of  the  whole  matter,  and  he  '11  continue  to  think  so." 

"Yes,  I  will.  I  see  you  are  right,  dearest.  Jean 
Jacques  has  a  plan.  After  a  few  days  he  thinks  he  could 
get  her  out  of  the  place.  Madelon  woiild  not  tell  me 
more." 

"Oho,  Mademoiselle  Virtue,  then  it  was  Madelon  who 
was  good,  not  you." 

"We  were  both  good,'*  asserted  Ange  demurely. 

After  that  there  were  no  further  confidences  between 
Madelon  and  the  ladies  of  the  white  house.  If  they  met 
on  the  road,  they  nodded,  passed  a  friendly  greeting, 
and  went  each  on  her  own  way  without  further  words. 

Ten  days  went  by  and  brought  them  to  the  first  week 
of  March.  It  came  in  like  the  proverbial  lamb,  with 
dewy  nights  which  sparkled  into  tender  sunny  days. 
The  brushwood  tangles  reddened  with  innumerable 
buds;  here  and  there  in  the  hedgerow  a  white  violet 


314       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

appeared  like  a  belated  snowflake,  and  in  the  under- 
growth primrose  leaves  showed  fresh  and  green.  Aline 
gave  herself  up  to  these  first  prophecies  of  spring.  She 
roamed  the  woods  and  lanes  for  hours,  finding  in  every 
budded  tree,  in  every  promised  flower,  not  only  the 
sweetest  memories  of  her  childhood,  but  also,  God 
knows  what,  of  elusive  beckoning  hopes  that  played  on 
the  spring  stirring  in  her  blood,  as  softly  as  the  Lent 
breeze,  which  brought  a  new  blush  to  her  cheek.  One 
exquisite  afternoon  found  her  still  miles  from  home.  So 
many  birds  were  singing  that  no  one  could  have  felt 
the  loneliness  of  the  countryside.  She  turned  with 
regret  to  make  her  way  towards  Rancy,  taking  here  a 
well-known  and  there  an  unfamiliar  path.  Nearer  home 
she  struck  into  the  woods  by  a  new  and  interesting 
track.  It  wandered  a  good  deal,  winding  this  way  and 
that  until  she  lost  her  bearings  and  had  no  longer  any 
clear  notion  of  what  direction  she  was  taking.  Presently 
a  sweetness  m^t  her,  and  with  a  little  exclamation  of 
pleasure  she  went  on  her  knees  before  the  first  purple 
violets  of  the  year.  It  seemed  a  shame  to  pick,  but 
impossible  to  leave  them,  and  by  searching  carefully 
she  obtained  quite  a  bunch,  salving  her  conscience  with 
the  thought  of  what  pleasure  they  would  give  Mile 
Marthe,  who  seemed  so  much  more  suffering  of  late. 

"It  is  the  spring — it  will  pass,"  Ange  said  repeatedly. 

Aline  walked  on,  violets  in  hand,  wondering  why  the 
spring,  which  brought  new  life  to  all  Nature,  should 
bring — she  caught  herself  up  with  a  shiver — Death? 
Of  course  there  was  no  question  of  death.  How  foolish 
of  her  to  think  of  it,  but  having  thought,  the  thought 
clung  until  she  dwelt  painfully  upon  it,  and  every 
moment  it  needed  a  stronger  effort  to  turn  her  mind 
away.     So  immersed  was  she  that  she  did  not  notice  at 


Escape  of  Two  Madcaps  3^5 

all  where  she  was  going.  The  little  path  climbed  on, 
pursued  a  tortuous  way,  and  suddenly  brought  her  out 
to  the  east  of  the  chateau,  and  in  full  view  of  its  ruined 
pile,  where  the  blackened  mass  of  it  still  smoked  faintly, 
and  one  high  skeleton  wall  towered  gaunt  and  bare, 
its  empty  window  spaces  like  the  eyeless  stare  of  a 
skull. 

The  sun  was  behind  it,  throwing  it  into  strong  relief, 
and  the  sight  brought  back  the  sort  of  terror  which  the 
place  had  always  had  for  Aline.  She  walked  on  quickly, 
skirting  the  ruins  and  keeping  to  the  outer  edge  of  the 
wide  terraces,  on  her  way  to  the  familiar  bridle-path, 
which  was  her  quickest  way  home.  When  she  came 
into  the  Italian  garden  she  paused,  remembering  the 
nightmare  of  that  struggle  for  Marguerite's  life.  The 
pool  with  its  low  stone  rim  reflected  nothing  more 
terrible  than  sunset  clouds  now,  but  she  still  shuddered 
as  she  thought  how  the  smoke  and  flame  had  woven 
strange  spirals  on  its  clear,  passive  mirror.  She  stooped 
now,  and  dipped  her  violets  in  the  water  to  keep  them 
fresh.  Her  own  eyes  looked  back  at  her,  very  bright 
and  clear,  and  she  smiled  a  little  as  she  put  up  a  hand 
to  smooth  a  straying  curl.  Then,  of  a  sudden  she  saw 
her  own  eyes  change,  grow  frightened.  A  step  sounded 
on  the  path  behind  her,  and  another  face  appeared  in 
the  pool, — a  man's  face — and  a  stranger's. 

Aline  got  up  quickly  and  turned  to  see  a  tall  young 
man  in  a  riding-dress,  who  slapped  his  boot  with  a  silver- 
headed  cane  and  exclaimed  gallantly : 

"Venus  her  mirror,  no  less!  Faith,  my  lady  Venus, 
can  you  tell  me  where  I  have  the  good  fortune  to  find 
myself?" 

His  voice  was  a  deep,  pleasant  one,  but  it  carried 
Aline  back  oddly  to  her  convent  days,  and  it  seemed 


3i6       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

to  her  that  she  had  heard  Sister  Marie  S^raphine  say, 
"Attention,  then,  my  child." 

Then  she  remembered  that  Sister  Marie  S^raphine  in 
religion  was  Nora  O'Connor  in  the  world,  and  realised 
that  it  was  the  kindly  Irish  touch  upon  French  conso- 
nants and  vowels  which  she  had  in  common  with  this 
young  man,  who  was  surely  as  unlike  a  nun  as  he  could 
be.  She  looked  at  him  with  great  attention,  and  saw 
red  unpowdered  hair  cut  to  a  soldier's  (or  a  Republican's) 
length,  a  face  all  freckles,  and  queer  twinkling  eyeS;  a 
great  deal  too  light  for  his  skin. 

"Monsieur  my  cousin,  or  I  'm  much  mistaken,"  she 
said  to  herself,  but  aloud  she  answered: 

"And  do  you  not  know  where  you  are  then.  Citizen?" 

"I  know  where  I  want  to  be,  but  I  hope  I  haven't 
got  there,"  said  the  young  man,  coming  closer. 

"And  why  is  that.  Citizen?" 

He  made  a  quick  impatient  gesture. 

"Oh,  a  little  less  of  the  Citizen,  my  dear.  I  know 
I  'm  an  ugly  devil,  but  do  I  look  like  a  Jacobin?" 

Aline  was  amazed  at  his  recklessness. 

"Monsieur  is  a  very  imprudent  person,"  she  said 
wamingly. 

"  Monsieur  would  like  to  know  where  he  is, "  responded 
the  young  man,  laughing. 

She  fixed  her  eyes  on  him. 

"You  are  at  Rancy-les-Bois,  Monsieur." 

He  bit  his  lip,  made  a  half  turn,  and  indicated  the 
blackened  ruins  above  them. 

"And  this?" 

"This  is,  or  was,  the  Chateau  de  Montenay." 

In  a  minute  all  the  freckles  seemed  to  be  accentuated 
by  the  pallor  of  the  skin  below.  The  hand  that  held 
the  cane  gripped  it  until  the  knuckles  whitened.     He 


Escape  of  Two  Madcaps  317 

stared  a  minute  or  two  at  the  faintly  rising  vapour  that 
told  of  heat  not  yet  exhausted,  and  then  said  sharply : 

"When  was  it  burned?" 

''Ten  days  ago." 

'  *  Any — lives — lost  ? ' ' 

"It  is  believed  so,"  said  Aline,  watching  him- 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  face  a  moment,  then  let  it 
fall,  and  stood  rigid,  his  queer  eyes  suddenly  tragic,  and 
Aline  could  not  forbear  any  longer. 

"Marguerite  is  safe,"  she  cried  quickly  and  saw  him 
colour  to  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"Marguerite — mon  Dieu!  I  thought  she  was  gone!" 
and  with  that  he  sat  down  on  the  coping,  put  his  head 
down  upon  his  arms,  and  a  long  sobbing  breath  or  two 
heaved  his  broad  shoulders  in  a  fashion  that  at  once 
touched  and  embarrassed  Aline. 

She  drew  nearer  and  watched  uneasily,  her  own  breath- 
ing a  little  quicker  than  usual.  A  woman's  tears  are  of 
small  account  to  a  woman,  but  when  a  man  sobs,  it 
stirs  in  her  the  strangest  mixture  of  pity,  repulsion, 
gentleness,  and  contempt. 

' '  She  is  quite  safe, ' '  she  repeated  nervously,  whereupon 
the  young  man  raised  his  head,  exclaiming  in  impulsive 
tones : 

"And  a  thousand  blessings  on  you  for  saying  it,  my 
dear,"  whilst  in  the  same  moment  he  slipped  an  arm 
about  her  waist,  pulled  her  a  little  down,  and  before  she 
could  draw  back,  had  kissed  her  very  heartily  upon  the 
cheek. 

It  had  hardly  happened  before  she  was  free,  and  a  yard 
away,  with  her  head  up,  and  a  look  in  her  eyes  that 
brought  him  to  his  feet,  flushing  and  bowing. 

"  I  ask  a  thousand  pardons, "  he  stammered.  "Indeed 
if  it  had  been  the  blessed  Saint  Bridget  herself  that  gave 


3i8       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

me  that  news,  I  'd  have  kissed  her,  and  meant  no  dis- 
respect. For  it  was  out  of  hell  you  took  me,  with  the 
best  word  I  ever  heard  spoken.  You  see,  when  I  found 
Marguerite  gone  with  that  old  mad  lady,  her  aunt,  I  was 
ready  to  cut  my  throat,  only  I  thought  I  'd  do  more  good 
by  following  her.  Then  when  I  saw  these  ruins,  my 
heart  went  cold,  till  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  ask  the 
name.  And  when  you  said  it,  and  I  pictured  her  there 
under  all  these  hot  cinders — well,  if  you  Ve  a  heart  in 
you,  you  '11  know  what  I  felt,  and  the  blessed  relief  of 
hearing  she  was  safe.  Would  n't  you  have  kissed  the 
first  person  handy  yourself,  now?" 

He  regarded  her  with  such  complete  earnestness  that 
Aline  could  hardly  refrain  from  smiling.  She  bent  her 
head  a  little  and  said : 

"  I  can  understand  that  Monsieur  le  Chevalier  did  not 
know  what  he  was  doing." 

He  stared. 

"What,  you  know  me?" 

"And  do  you  perhaps  think  that  I  go  about  volun- 
teering information  about  Mile  de  Matigny  to  every 
stranger  I  come  across?  Every  one  is  not  so  imprudent 
as  M.  Desmond." 

"I  '11  not  deny  my  name,  but  that  I  'm  imprudent — 
yes,  with  my  last  breath. " 

Aline  could  not  repress  a  smile. 

" Do  you  talk  to  all  strangers  as  you  did  to  me?"  she 
inquired. 

"Come,  now,  how  do  you  think  I  got  here?"  he 
returned. 

"I  am  wondering,"  she  said  drily. 

"Well,  it  's  a  simple  plan,  and  all  my  own.  When  I 
see  an  honest  face  I  let  myself  go,  and  tell  the  whole 
truth.     Not  a  woman  has  failed  me  yet,  and  if  I  've  told 


Escape  of  Two  Madcaps  319 

the  moving  tale  of  my  pursuit  of  Marguerite  to  one  be- 
tween this  and  Bdle,  I  've  told  it  to  half  a  dozen. " 

Aline  gasped. 

"  Oh,  it  's  a  jewel  of  a  plan, "  he  said  easily,  "and  much 
simpler  than  telling  lies.  There  are  some  who  can 
manage  their  lies,  but  mine  have  a  way  of  disagreeing 
amongst  themselves  that  beats  cock-fighting.  No,  no, 
it  's  the  truth  for  me,  and  see  how  w^ell  it  's  served  me. 
So  now  you  know  all  about  me,  but  I  Ve  no  notion  who 
you  are." 

"I  am  a  friend  of  Marguerite's,  fortunately,"  she 
said,  "and,  I  believe,  M.  le  Chevalier,  that  I  am  a  cousin 
of  yours." 

Mr.  Desmond  looked  disappointed. 

"My  dear  lady,  it  would  be  so  much  more  wonderful 
if  you  were  n't.  You  see  my  great-grandfather  had 
sixteen  daughters,  besides  sons  to  the  number  of  eight 
or  so,  and  between  them  they  married  into  every  family 
in  Europe,  or  nearly  every  one.  Marguerite  is  n't  a 
cousin,  bless  her.  Now,  I  wonder,  would  you  be  a  grand- 
daughter of  my  Aunt  Elizabeth,  who  ran  away  with  her 
French  dancing-master,  in  the  year  of  grace  1740?" 

The  blood  of  the  Rochambeau  rose  to  Aline's  cheeks 
in  a  becoming  blush,  as  she  answered  with  rather  an 
indignant  negative. 

"No?"  said  Mr.  Desmond  regretfully.  "Well,  then, 
a  pity  it  is  too,  for  never  a  one  of  my  Aunt  Elizabeth's 
descendants  have  I  met  with  yet,  and  I  'm  beginning  to 
be  afraid  that  she  was  so  lost  to  all  sense  of  the  family 
traditions  as  to  die  without  leaving  any." 

"If  she  so  far  forgot,"  Aline  began  a  little  haughtily, 
and  then,  remembering,  blushed  a  very  vivid  crimson, 
and  was  silent. 

"Well,  well,  I  'm  afraid  she  did, "  sighed  Mr.  Desmond; 


320       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

*'and  now  I  come  to  think  of  it  you  '11  be  Conor  Des- 
mond's granddaughter,  he  that  was  proscribed,  and 
racketed  all  over  Europe.  His  daughter  married  a  M. 
de — Roche — Roche ' ' 

"Rochambeau,  Monsieur.  Yes,  I  was  Aline  de 
Rochambeau. " 

"Was?"  said  Mr.  Desmond  curiously,  and  then  fell 
to  whistling. 

"Oh,  my  faith,  yes,  I  remember, — Marguerite  told 
me,"  and  there  was  a  slight  embarrassed  pause  which 
Desmond  broke  into  with  a  laugh. 

"After  all,  now,  that  kiss  was  not  so  out  of  place," 
he  said,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  green  eyes.  "Cousins  may 
kiss  all  the  world  over. " 

His  glance  was  too  frank  to  warrant  offence,  and 
Aline  answered  it  with  a  smile. 

"With  Monsieur's  permission  I  shall  wait  until  I  can 
kiss  Madame  ma  cousine, "  she  said,  and  dropped  him  a 
little  curtsey. 

Mr.  Desmond  sighed. 

"  I  wish  we  were  all  well  out  of  this, "  he  said  gloomily ; 
"but  how  in  the  devil's  name,  or  the  saints'  names,  or 
any  one  else's  name,  we  are  to  get  out  of  it,  I  don't 
know.  Well,  well,  the  sooner  it 's  tried  the  better; 
so  where  is  Marguerite,  Madame  my  cousin?" 

Aline  considered. 

"I  can't  take  you  to  her  without  asking  leave  of  the 
friend  she  is  with,"  she  said  at  last;  "but  if  you  will 
wait  here  I  will  go  and  speak  to  her,  and  come  back  again 
when  we  have  talked  things  over.  We  shall  have 
to  wait  till  it  is  quite  dark,  and  you  '11  be  careful,  won't 
you?" 

"I  will,"  said  Mr.  Desmond,  without  hesitation.  He 
kissed  his  hand  to  Aline  as  she  went  off,  and  she  frowned 


Escape  of  Two  Madcaps  321 

at  him,  then  smiled  to  herself,  and  disappeared  amongst 
the  trees,  walking  quickly  and  wondering  what  was  to 
come  next. 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  night  a  council  of  four  sat  in 
the  apple  loft  at  the  mill.  Marguerite,  perched  on  a 
pile  of  hay,  was  leaning  against  Aline,  who  sat  beside 
her.  Every  now  and  then  she  let  one  hand  fall  within 
reach  of  Mr.  Desmond,  who,  reclining  at  her  feet,  in- 
variably kissed  it,  and  was  invariably  scolded  for  doing 
so.  Madelon  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  trap-door,  her  feet 
supported  by  the  top  rungs  of  the  ladder  which  led  to 
the  barn  below.  She  and  Aline  were  grave,  Marguerite 
pouting,  and  Mr.  Desmond  very  much  at  his  ease. 

"But  what  plan  have  you?"  Aline  was  asking. 

"Oh,  a  hundred,"  he  said  carelessly. 

Marguerite  pulled  her  hand  away  with  a  jerk. 

"Then  you  might  at  least  tell  us  one,"  she  said. 

"Ah,  now  I  'd  tell  you  anything  when  you  look  at  me 
like  that,"  he  said  with  fervour. 

"Then,  tell  me.     No,  now, — at  once." 

He  sat  up  and  extracted  a  paper  from  his  waistcoat 
pocket.  It  set  forth  that  the  Citizen  Lemoine  and  his 
wife  were  at  liberty  to  travel  in  France  at  their  pleasure. 

"In  France,"  said  Aline. 

"Why,  yes,  one  can't  advertise  oneself  as  an  emigr^. 
Once  on  the  frontier,  one  must  make  a  dash  for  it, — it 's 
done  every  day." 

"But  it  says  his  wife,"  objected  Marguerite,  "and 
I  'm  not  your  wife." 

"And  I  'm  not  Lemoine,  but  it  does  n't  hurt  my  con- 
science to  say  I  am, — not  in  the  least,"  returned  Mr. 
Desmond. 

"But  I  can't  go  with  you  like  that,"  she  protested. 
"What  would  grandmamma  have  said?" 


32  2       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

Mr.  Desmond  gave  an  ironical  laugh.  "Your  sainted 
grandmamma  is  past  knowing  what  we  do,  and  we  're 
past  the  conventions,  my  dear,"  he  observed,  but  she 
only  sat  up  the  straighter. 

"Indeed,  Monsieur,  you  may  be,  but  I  'm  not.  Why, 
there  was  Julie  de  Ldrac,  who  escaped  with  her  brother's 
friend.  It  was  when  I  was  in  prison,  and  I  heard  what 
grandmamma  and  the  other  ladies  said  of  her.  Nothing 
would  induce  me  to  be  spoken  of  like  that." 

"But  your  life  depends  on  it.  Marguerite,  don't  you 
trust  me?" 

"Why,  of  course;  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

"But,  my  dearest  child,  what  is  to  be  done?  You 
can't  stay  here,  and  we  can't  be  married  here,  so  the 
only  thing  to  be  done  is  to  get  away,  and  then  we  *11  be 
married  as  soon  as  your  father  will  allow  it.  My  aunt 
Judith's  money  has  come  in  the  very  nick  of  time,  for 
now  we  '11  be  able  to  go  back  to  the  old  place.  Ah, 
you  '11  love  Ireland." 

Marguerite  tapped  with  her  foot. 

"Why  can't  we  be  married  now?"  she  said  quickly. 

Madelon,  who  had  been  listening  in  silence,  started 
and  looked  up,  but  did  not  speak. 

"Impossible,"  said  Mr.  Desmond;  and  Aline  whis- 
pered : 

"  My  dear,  you  could  n't. " 

*  *  Why  not  ?     There  is  a  priest  here. ' ' 

"You  coiild  n't  trust  him.  He  has  taken  the  oath  to 
the  Convention,"  said  Aline. 

"Well  but —  Madelon,  you  told  me  of  him;  tell 
them  what  you  said.  Do  you  think  he  would  betray 
us?" 

"How  do  I  know?"  said  Madelon,  with  a  frown.  "I 
do  not  think  so,  but  one  never  knows.     It  is  a  risk. " 


Escape  of  Two  Madcaps  323 

''  I  don't  mind  the  risk. " 

"To  us  all,"  continued  Madelon  bluntly.  "I  am 
thinking  of  more  than  you,  little  Ma'mselle. " 

''Who  is  this  priest?"  asked  Desmond.  "What  do 
you  know  of  him?" 

"What  I  know  is  from  my  husband's  cousin,  Anne 
Pinel,  who  is  his  housekeeper.  He  took  the  oath,  and 
ever  since  he  has  a  trouble  on  his  mind,  and  walks  at 
night,  sometimes  all  night  long.  At  first  Anne  would 
get  up  and  listen,  and  then  she  would  hear  groans  and 
prayers,  and  once  he  called  out :  '  Judas !  Judas !  Judas ! ' 
so  that  she  was  frightened,  and  went  back  to  her  bed 
and  put  her  hands  over  her  ears.  Now  she  takes  no 
notice,  she  is  so  used  to  it." 

"There!"  cried  Marguerite.  "Poor  man,  if  he  can 
torment  himself  in  such  a  way  he  would  not  put  a  fresh 
burden  on  his  conscience  by  betraying  us.  Besides, 
why  should  he?     I  have  a  beautiful  plan." 

"Well?" 

"We  shall  start  at  night;  and  first  we  will  go  to  the 
priest's  house,  and  I  shall  throw  pebbles  at  his  window. 
He  will  open,  and  I  shall  say,  'Mon  pere,  here  are  two 
people  who  wish  to  be  married.'  " 

"Yes!  and  he  'd  want  to  know  why?" 

"Of  course,  and  I  shall  say,  'Mon  pere,  we  are  es- 
caping for  our  lives,  and  we  wish  to  be  married  because 
I  am  a  jeune  fille  bien  elevee,  and  my  grandmamma 
would  turn  in  her  grave  at  the  thought  of  my  crossing 
France  alone  with  ma  fiance';  and  then  he  will  marry 
us,  and  we  shall  walk  away  again,  and  go  on  walking 
until  we  can't  walk  any  more. " 

"Marguerite,  what  folly!"  cried  Aline,  and  Madelon 
nodded  her  head. 

"It's  a  beautiful  plan!"  exclaimed  Mr.   Desmond. 


324       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

He  had  his  betrothed 's  hand  in  his  once  more,  and  was 
kissing  it  unrebuked.  "My  dear,  we  were  made  for 
each  other,  for  it  *s  a  scheme  after  my  own  heart! 
Madame,  my  cousin,  will  you  come  with  us?" 

"Oh,  yes,  as  chaperon,  and  then  we  needn't  bother 
about  getting  married,"  said  Marguerite,  kissing  her. 

"That's  not  what  I  meant  at  all,"  observed  Mr. 
Desmond  reproachfully,  and  Aline  was  obliged  to  laugh. 

"No,  no,  ma  mie;  not  even  to  keep  you  out  of  so  mad 
a  scrape,"  she  said,  and  Madelon  nodded  again. 

" No,  no, "  she  echoed.  "That  would  be  a  pretty  state 
of  affairs.  There  is  Citizen  Dangeau  to  be  thought  of. 
Deputies'  wives  must  not  emigrate." 

Aline  drew  away  from  Marguerite,  and  caught 
Madelon  by  the  arm. 

"What 's  to  be  done?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  let  them  go." 

"But  the  plan  's  sheer  folly." 

Madelon  shrugged. 

"Madame  Aline,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "look  at 
them.  Is  it  any  use  talking?  and  we  waste  time. 
Once  I  saw  a  man  at  a  fair.  There  was  a  rope  stretched 
between  two  booths,  and  he  walked  on  it.  Then  a 
woman  in  the  crowd  screamed  out,  'Oh,  he  will  fall!' 
and  he  looked  down  at  her,  went  giddy,  and  fell.  He 
broke  his  leg ;  but  if  no  one  had  called  out  he  would  not 
have  fallen." 

"You  mean?" 

"It  will  be  like  walking  on  the  rope  for  Monsieur 
and  little  Ma'mselle  Marguerite,  all  the  way  until  they 
get  out  of  France.  If  they  think  they  can  do  it, — well, 
they  say  God  helps  those  who  cannot  help  themselves, 
and  perhaps  they  will  get  across  safely;  but  if  they  get 
frightened,  if  they  think  of  the  danger,  they  will  be  like 


Escape  of  Two  Madcaps  325 

the  man  who  looked  down  and  grew  giddy,  and  pouf ! — 
it  will  be  all  over." 

"But  this  added  risk " 

"I  do  not  think  there  is  much  risk.  The  cur^  is 
timid;  for  his  own  sake  he  will  say  nothing.  If  Anne 
hears  anything,  she  will  shut  her  ears;  and,  Madame 
Aline,  the  great  thing  is  for  them  to  get  away.  I  tell 
you,  I  am  afraid  of  my  father.  He  watches  us.  I  do 
not  like  his  eyes." 

She  broke  off,  looking  troubled;  and  Desmond  stopped 
whispering  to  Marguerite  and  turned  to  them. 

"Well,  you  good  Madelon,  we  shall  be  off  your  mind 
to-morrow.  Tell  us  where  this  cur^  lives;  set  us  in  the 
way,  and  we  '11  be  off  as  soon  as  may  be.  My  dear 
cousin,  believe  me  that  frown  will  bring  you  lines  ten 
years  before  they  are  due.  Do  force  a  smile,  and  wish 
us  joy." 

"To-night!"  exclaimed  Aline. 

"  Yes,  that 's  best, "  said  Madelon  decidedly.  "  Little 
Ma'mselle  knows  that  she  has  been  a  welcome  guest, 
but  she  *s  best  away,  and  that 's  the  truth.  If  we  had  n't 
been  watched,  Jean  Jacques  would  have  driven  her  out 
in  the  cart  a  week  ago. " 

"Watched!     By  whom?"  Desmond's  eyes  were  alert. 

"By  my  father,  Mathieu  Leroux,  the  inn-keeper." 

"Ah!  well,  we  '11  be  away  by  morning — in  fact  we  '11 
be  moving  now.  Marguerite  is  ready.  Faith,  now  I  've 
found  the  comfort  of  travelling  without  mails,  I  'm  ready 
to  swear  I  '11  never  take  them  again." 

"I  'm  not,"  said  Marguerite,  with  a  whimsical  glance 
at  her  costume,  which  consisted  of  an  old  brown  skirt 
of  Madelon's,  a  rough  print  bodice,  and  a  dark,  patched 
cloak,  which  covered  her  from  head  to  foot.  They  stole 
out  noiselessly,  Madelon  calling  under  her  breath  to  the 


326       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

yard  dog,  who  sniffed  at  them  in  the  darkness,  and  then 
lay  down  again  with  a  rustle  of  straw. 

Afterwards  Aline  thought  of  the  scene  which  followed 
as  the  most  dreamlike  of  all  her  queer  experiences. 
The  things  which  she  remembered  most  vividly  were 
Marguerite's  soft  ripple  of  laughter,  half -childish,  half- 
nervous,  as  she  threw  a  handful  of  pebbles  at  the  curb's 
window,  and  the  moonlight  glinting  on  the  pane  as  the 
casement  opened.  What  followed  was  like  the  inconse- 
quent and  fantastic  dramas  of  sleep. 

The  explanations — the  protests,  the  curb's  voice  ashake 
with  timidity,  until  at  last  his  fear  of  immediate  dis- 
covery overbore  his  terror  of  future  consequences,  and 
he  began  to  murmur  the  words  which  Aline  had  heard 
last  in  circumstances  as  strange,  and  far  more  terrifying. 
For  days  she  wondered  to  herself  over  the  odd  scene: 
Desmond  with  his  head  bent  towards  his  betrothed,  and 
his  deep  voice  muffled;  and  Marguerite  pledging  herself 
childishly — taking  the  great  vows,  and  smiling  all  the 
time.  Only  at  the  very  end  she  turned  and  threw  her 
arms  round  Aline,  holding  her  as  if  she  would  never 
leave  go,  and  straining  against  her  with  a  choked  sob 
or  two. 

"No,  no,  I  can't  go — I  can't!"  she  murmured,  but 
Aline  wrenched  herself  away. 

"Marguerite,  for  God's  sake!"  she  said.  "It  is  too 
late, — you  must  go";  and  as  Desmond  stepped  between 
them  Marguerite  caught  his  arm  and  held  it  in  a  wild  grip. 

"Oh,  you'll  save  me!"  And  for  once  Aline  was 
thankful  for  his  tone  of  careless  ease 

"  My  jewel,  what  a  question !  Why,  we  're  off  on  our 
honeymoon.  'T  is  a  most  original  one.  Well,  we  must 
go.  Good-bye,  my  cousin,"  and  he  took  Aline's  hand 
in  a  grip  that  surprised  her. 


Escape  of  Two  Madcaps  327 

"I'll  not  forget  what  you  Ve  done,"  he  said,and 
kissed  it ;  and  so,  without  more  ado,  they  were  gone,  and 
Aline  was  alone  in  the  chequered  moonlight  before  the 
priest's  house,  where  the  closed  window  spoke  of  the  haste 
with  which  M.  le  Cure  withdrew  himself  from  partici- 
pation in  so  perilous  an  affair. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


A   DYING  WOMAN 


NEXT  day  brought  it  home  to  Madelon  how  true  her 
forebodings  had  been.  Noon  brought  her  a  visit 
from  her  father,  and  nothing  would  serve  him  but  to  go 
into  every  hole  and  comer.  He  alleged  a  wish  to  admire 
her  housewifery,  but  the  dark  brow  with  which  he 
accompanied  her,  and  the  quick,  suspicious  glances  which 
he  cast  all  round,  made  Madelon  thank  every  saint  in 
the  calendar  that  the  fugitives  were  well  on  the  road, 
and  that  she  had  removed  every  trace  of  their  presence 
betimes. 

"Mon  Dieu,  Madame  Aline!"  she  said  afterwards, 
"when  he  came  to  the  apple  loft  he  seemed  to  know 
something.  There  he  stood,  not  speaking,  but  just 
staring  at  me,  like  a  dog  at  a  rat-hole.  I  tell  you,  I 
thanked  Saint  Perpetua,  whose  day  it  was,  that  the  rats 
were  away!"  In  the  end  he  went  away,  frowning, 
and  swearing  a  little  to  himself,  and  quiet  days  set  in. 

No  news  was  good  news,  and  no  news  came;  presently 
Aline  stopped  being  terrified  at  every  meeting  with  the 
inn-keeper,  or  the  cur^,  and  then  Mile  Marthe  became 
so  ill  that  all  interests  centred  in  her  sick-room.  Her 
malady,  which  had  remained  stationary  for  so  long, 
began  to  gain  ground  quickly,  and  nights  and  days  of 

338 


A  Dying  Woman  329 

agony  consumed  her  strength,  and  made  even  the  sister 
to  whom  she  was  everything  look  upon  Death  as  the 
Angel  not  of  the  Sword,  but  of  Peace. 

One  day  the  pain  ebbed  with  the  light,  and  at  sunset 
she  was  more  comfortable  than  she  had  been  for  a  long 
while.  Aline  persuaded  Mile  Ange  to  go  and  lie  down 
for  a  little,  and  she  and  Marthe  were  alone. 

"The  day  is  a  long  time  going,"  said  Marthe  after  a 
silence  of  some  minutes. 

"Yes,  the  days  are  lengthening." 

"And  mine  are  shortening, — only  I  'm  an  unreasonable 
time  over  my  dying.  It 's  a  trial  to  me,  for  I  liked  to 
do  things  quickly.  I  suppose  no  one  has  ever  known 
what  it  has  been  to  me  to  see  Jeanne  pottering  about 
her  work,  or  Ange  moving  a  chair,  or  a  book,  in  her 
slow,  deliberate  way;  and  now  that  it  's  come  to  my 
turn  I  'm  having  my  revenge,  and  inflicting  the  same 
kind  of  annoyance  on  you." 

She  spoke  in  a  quick,  toneless  voice,  that  sounded 
very  feeble, — almost  as  if  the  life  going  from  her  had 
left  it  behind  as  a  stranded  wreck  of  sound. 

Aline  turned  with  a  sob. 

"Heavens,  child!  did  you  think  I  did  n*t  know  I  was 
going,  or  that  I  expected  you  to  cry  over  me?  You  've 
been  a  butt  for  my  sharp  tongue  too  often  to  be  heart- 
broken when  there  's  a  chance  of  your  being  left  in  peace. " 

"Oh,  don't!"  said  Aline,  choking;  and  something  in 
voice  and  face  brought  a  queer  look  to  the  black,  mock- 
ing eyes. 

"What,  you  really  care  a  little?  My  dear,  it 's  too 
amiable  of  you.  Why,  Aline," — as  the  girl  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands, — "why,  Aline!" 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  the  weak  voice  went  on 
again; 


330       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"If  you  do  care  at  all — if  I  mean  anything  at  all  in 
your  life — then  I  will  ask  you  one  thing.  What  are  you 
doing  to  Jacques?" 

"Was  that  why  you  hated  me?"  said  Aline  quickly. 

"Oh,  hate?  Well,  I  never  hated  you,  but —  Yes, 
that  was  it.  He  and  Ange  are  the  two  things  I  Ve  had 
to  love,  and  though  I  don't  suppose  he  thinks  about  me 
twice  a  year,  still  his  happiness  means  more  to  me  than 
it  does — well,  to  you." 

"Oh,  that 's  not  true!"  cried  Aline  on  a  quick  breath. 

Marthe  Desaix  looked  sharply  at  her. 

"Aline,"  she  said,  "how  long  are  you  going  to  break 
his  heart  and  your  own?" 

"I  don't  know,"  whispered  the  girl.  "There's  so 
much  between  us.     Too  much  for  honour." 

"Too  much  for  pride.  Aline  de  Rochambeau,"  said 
Marthe  with  cruel  emphasis,  and  her  own  name  made 
Aline  wince.  It  seemed  a  thing  of  hard,  unyielding 
pride;  a  thing  her  heart  shrank  from. 

"Listen  to  me.  When  he  is  dead  over  there  in 
Spain,  what  good  will  your  pride  do  you?  Women  who 
live  without  love,  or  natural  ties,  what  do  they  become? 
Hard,  and  sour,  and  bitter,  like  me;  or  foolish,  and 
spiteful,  and  soft,  and  petty.  I  tell  you,  I  could  have 
shed  the  last  drop  of  my  blood,  worked  my  fingers  to 
the  raw  stump,  for  the  man  I  loved.  I  'd  have  borne 
his  children  by  the  roadside,  followed  him  footsore 
through  the  world,  slept  by  his  side  in  the  snow,  and 
thought  myself  blessed.  But  to  me  there  came  neither 
love  nor  lover.  Aline,  can  you  live  in  other  people's 
lives,  love  with  other  women's  hearts,  rear  and  foster 
other  mothers'  children  as  Ange  does?  That  is  the 
only  road  for  a  barren  woman,  that  does  not  lead  to 
desert  places  and  a  land  dry  as  her  heart.     Can  you 


A  Dying  Woman  331 

take  my  sister's  road?  Is  there  nothing  in  you  that 
calls  out  for  the  man  who  loves  you,  for  the  children 
that  might  be  yours?  Is  your  pride  more  to  you  than 
all  this?'* 

Aline  looked  up  steadily. 

"No,"  she  said,  "it  is  nothing.  I  would  do  as  you 
say  you  would  have  done,  but  there  was  one  thing  I 
thought  I  could  not  do.  May  I  tell  you  the  whole 
story  now?  I  have  wished  to  often,  but  it  is  hard  to 
begin." 

"Tell  me,"  said  Marthe;  and  Aline  told  her  all, 
from  the  beginning. 

When  she  had  finished  she  saw  that  Marthe's  eyes 
were  closed,  and  moved  a  little  to  rise,  thinking  that 
she  had  dropped  asleep.  But  as  she  did  so  the  eyes 
opened  again,  and  Marthe  said  fretfully,  "No,  I  heard 
it  all.     It  is  very  hard  to  judge,  very  hard. " 

Aline  looked  at  her  in  alarm,  for  she  seemed  all  at 
once  to  have  grown  very  old. 

"Yes,  it  is  hard.  Life  is  so  difficult,"  she  went  on 
slowly — weakly,  "I  'm  glad  to  be  going  out  of  it — out 
into  the  dark." 

Aline  kissed  her  hand,  and  spoke  wistfully : 

"Is  it  all  so  dark  to  you?" 

"Why  yes,  dark  enough — cold  enough — ^lonely  enough. 
Isn't  it  so  to  you?" 

"Not  altogether,  ma  tante." 

"What,  because  of  those  old  tales  which  you  believe? 
Well,  if  they  comfort  you,  take  comfort  from  them.  I 
can't." 

"But  Mile  Ange — believes?" 

Marthe  frowned  impatiently. 

"Who  knows  what  Ange  believes?  Not  she  herself. 
She  is  a  saint  to  be  sure,  but  orthodox?     A  hundred 


332       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

years  ago  she  would  have  been  lucky  if  she  had  escaped 
Purgatory  fire  in  this  life.  She  is  content  to  wander  in 
vague,  beautiful  imaginings.  She  abstracts  her  mind, 
and  calls  it  prayer;  confuses  it,  and  says  she  has  been 
meditating.  I  am  not  like  that.  I  like  things  clear  and 
settled,  with  a  good  hard  edge  to  them.  I  should  have 
been  the  worker  and  Ange  the  invalid, — no,  no!  what 
am  I  saying?     God  forgive  me,  I  don't  mean  that." 

"You  would  not  like  to  see  M.  le  Cur^?"  said  Aline 
timidly.  The  question  had  been  on  her  lips  a  hundred 
times,  but  she  had  not  had  the  courage  to  let  it  pass 
them. 

Mile  Marthe  was  too  weak  for  anger,  but  she  raised 
her  eyebrows  in  the  old  sarcastic  way. 

"Poor  man,"  she  said,  "he  needs  absolution  a  great 
deal  more  than  I  do.  He  thinks  he  has  sold  his  soul, 
and  can't  even  enjoy  the  price  of  it.  After  all,  those 
are  the  people  to  pity — the  ones  who  have  courage 
for  neither  good  nor  evil. " 

She  lay  silent  for  a  long  while  then,  and  watched  the 
sunset  colours  bum  to  flame,  and  fade  to  cold  ash-grey. 

Suddenly  Aline  said: 

"Matante." 

"Well?" 

"Ma  tante,  do  you  think  he  loves  me  still?" 

"Why  should  he?" 

The  girl  took  her  breath  sharply,  and  Mile  Marthe 
moved  her  head  with  an  impatient  jerk. 

"There,  there,  I  'm  too  near  my  end  to  lie.  Jacques 
is  like  his  mother,  he  has  n't  the  talent  of  forgetfulness." 

"He  looked  so  hard  when  he  went  away." 

"Little  fool,  if  he  had  smiled  he  would  have  for- 
gotten easily  enough." 

Aline  turned  her  head  aside. 


A  Dying  Woman  333 

" Listen  to  me, **  said  Mile  Marthe  insistently.  "What 
kind  of  a  man  do  you  take  your  husband  to  be,  good 
or  bad?" 

"Oh,  he  is  good — don't  I  know  that!  What  would 
have  become  of  me  if  he  had  been  a  bad  man? "  said  the 
girl  in  a  tense  whisper. 

"Then  would  you  not  have  him  follow  his  conscience? 
In  all  that  is  between  you  has  he  not  acted  as  a  man 
should  do?  Would  you  have  him  do  what  is  right  in 
your  eyes  and  not  in  his  own;  follow  your  lead,  take  the 
law  from  you?  Do  you,  or  does  any  woman,  desire  a 
husband  like  that?" 

Aline  did  not  answer,  only  stared  out  of  the  window. 
She  was  recalling  the  King's  death,  Dangeau's  vote,  and 
her  passion  of  loyalty  and  pain.  It  seemed  to  her  now 
a  thing  incredibly  old  and  far  away,  like  a  tale  read  of 
in  history  a  hundred  years  ago.  Something  seemed  to 
touch  her  heart  and  shrivel  it,  as  she  wondered  if  in 
years  to  come  she  would  look  back  as  remotely  upon  the 
love,  and  longing,  which  rent  her  now. 

There  was  a  long,  long  silence,  and  in  the  end  Mile 
Marthe  dozed  a  little.  When  Ange  came  in,  she  found 
her  lying  easily,  and  so  free  from  pain  that  she  took 
heart  and  was  quite  cheerful  over  the  little  sick-room 
offices.  But  at  midnight  there  was  a  change, — a  greyness 
of  face,  a  labouring  of  failing  lungs, — and  with  the  dawn 
she  sighed  heavily  once  or  twice  and  died,  leaving  the 
white  house  a  house  of  mourning. 

Mile  Ange  took  the  blow  quietly,  too  quietly  to 
satisfy  Aline,  who  would  rather  have  seen  her  weep. 
Her  cold,  dreamy  composure  was  somehow  very 
alarming,  and  the  few  tears  she  shed  on  the  day 
they  buried  Marthe  in  the  little  windy  graveyard 
were  dried  almost  as  they   fell.     After   that  she  took 


334       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

up  all  her  daily  tasks  at  once,   but   went  about  them 
abstractedly. 

Even  the  children  could  not  make  her  smile,  or  a 
visit  to  the  grave  draw  tears.  The  sad  monotony  of 
grief  settled  down  upon  the  household,  the  days  were 
heavy,  work  without  zest,  and  a  wet  April  splashed  the 
window-panes  with  torrents  of  warm,  unceasing  rain. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 
BETRAYAL 

IN  the  early  days  of  April  the  wind-swept,  ice-tor- 
mented Pyrenees  had  been  exchanged  for  the 
Spanish  lowlands,  vexed  by  the  drought  and  heat  of 
those  spring  days.  If  the  army  had  suffered  from  frost- 
bite and  pneumonia  before,  it  groaned  now  under  a 
plague  of  dysentery,  but  it  was  still,  and  increasingly, 
victorious.  An  approving  Convention  sent  congratula- 
tory messages  to  Dugommier,  who  enjoyed  the  distinc- 
tion— somewhat  unusual  for  a  general  in  those  days — 
of  having  been  neither  superseded  nor  recalled  to  suffer 
an  insulting  trial  and  an  ignoble  death. 

France  had  a  short  way  with  her  public  servants  just 
then.  Was  an  army  in  retreat?  To.  Paris  with  the 
traitor  who  commanded  it.  Was  an  advantage  insuffi- 
ciently followed  up?  To  the  guillotine  with  the  officer 
responsible.  Dumouriez  saved  his  head  by  going  to 
Austria  with  young  Egalit^  at  his  heels,  but  many  and 
many  a  general  who  had  led  the  troops  of  France  looked 
out  of  the  little  window,  and  was  flung  into  the 
common  trench,  to  be  dust  in  dust  with  nobles, 
great  ladies,  common  murderers,  and  the  poor  Queen 
herself.  Closer  and  closer  shaved  the  national  razor, 
heavier  and  heavier  fell  the  pall  upon  blood-soaked 
Paris,     Ma^^^t,  long  since  assassinated,  and  canonised 

335 


33<^       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

as  first  Saint  of  the  New  Calendar,  with  rites  of  an 
impiety  quite  indescribable,  would,  had  he  lived,  have 
seen  his  prophecy  fulfilled.  Paris  had  drunk  and  was 
athirst  again,  and  always  with  that  drunkard's  craving 
which  cannot  be  allayed — no,  not  by  all  the  floods  of  the 
infernal  lake.  Men  were  no  longer  men,  but  victims 
of  a  horrible  dementia.  Listen  to  Hubert  demanding 
the  Queen's  blood. 

"Do  you  think  that  any  of  us  will  be  able  to  save 
ourselves?"  he  cries.  "I  tell  you  we  are  all  damned 
already,  but  if  my  blood  must  flow,  it  shall  not  flow 
alone.  I  tell  you  that  if  we  pass,  our  passing  shall  devas- 
tate France,  and  leave  her  ruined  and  bloody,  a  spectacle 
for  the  nations!"  And  this  at  the  beginning  of  the 
Terror! 

A  curious  thought  comes  to  one.  Are  these  words, 
instinct  with  pure,  fate-driven  tragedy,  the  fruit  of 
Hubert's  mind — Hubert  gross  with  Paris  slime,  sensual, 
self-seeking,  flushed  with  evil  living?  or  is  he,  too,  un- 
willingly amongst  the  prophets,  mouthpiece  only  of  an 
immutable  law,  which,  outraged  by  him  and  his  like, 
pronounces  thus  an  irrevocable  doom? 

Well  might  Danton  write — "This  is  chaos,  and  the 
worlds  are  a-shaping.  One  cannot  see  one's  way  for  the 
red  vapour.  I  am  sick  of  it — sick.  There  is  nothing 
but  blood,  blood,  blood.  Camille  says  that  the  infernal 
gods  are  athirst.  If  they  are  not  glutted  soon  there 
will  be  no  blood  left  to  flow.  They  may  have  mine 
before  long.  Maximilian  eyes  my  head  as  if  it  irked 
him  to  see  it  higher  than  his  own.  If  it  were  off  he 
would  seem  the  taller.  I  am  going  home  to  Aries — 
with  my  wife.  The  spring  is  beautiful  there,  and  the 
Aube  runs  clean  from  blood.  It  were  better  to  fish 
its  waters  than  to  meddle  with  the  governing  of  men." 


Betrayal         .  337 

Dangeau  sighed  heavily  as  he  destroyed  the  letter. 
Surely  the  strong  hand  would  be  able  to  steer  the  ship 
to  calmer  waters,  and  yet  there  was  a  deep  sense  of 
approaching  fatality  upon  him. 

His  fellow-Commissioner  was  of  Robespierre's  party, — 
a  tall  man,  wonderfully  thin,  with  grizzled  hair,  and  a 
nose  where  the  bony  ridge  showed  yellow  under  the 
tight  skin.  He  had  a  cold,  suspicious  eye,  light  grey, 
with  a  green  under-tinge,  and  was,  as  Dangeau  knew 
beyond  a  doubt,  a  spy  both  on  himself  and  on  Du- 
gommier.  There  came  an  April  day  full  of  heat,  and 
sullen  with  brooding  thunder.  Dangeau  in  his  tent, 
writing  his  report,  found  the  pen  heavy  in  his  hand,  and 
for  once  was  glad  of  the  interruption,  when  Vibert's 
shadow  fell  across  the  entrance,  and  his  long  form  bent 
to  enter  at  the  low  door. 

"Ah,  come  in,"  he  said,  pushing  his  inkstand  away; 
and  Vibert,  who  had  not  waited  for  the  invitation,  sat 
down  and  looked  at  him  curiously  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  said: 

"A  courier  from  Paris  came  in  an  hour  ago." 

Dangeau  stretched  out  his  hand,  but  the  other  held 
his  papers  close. 

"There  is  news, — weighty  news,"  he  continued;  and 
Dangeau  felt  his  courage  leap  to  meet  an  impending  blow. 

"What  news?"  he  asked,  quite  quietly,  hand  still 
held  out. 

"You  are  Danton's  friend?" 

"As  you  very  well  know.  Citizen." 

Vibert  flung  all  his  papers  on  the  table. 

"You  '11  be  less  ready  to  claim  his  friendship  in  the 
future,  I  take  it,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  twang  of  steel 
in  his  voice.  Dangeau  turned  frightfully  pale,  but  the 
hand  that  reached  for  the  letters  was  controlled. 


33^       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Your  meaning,  Citizen?*' 

Vibert's  strident  laugh  rang  out. 

"Danton  was — somebody,  and  your  friend.  Danton 
is — a  name  and  nothing  more.  Once  the  knife  has 
fallen  there  is  not  a  penny  to  choose  between  him  and 
any  other  carrion.  A  good  riddance  to  France,  and  all 
good  patriots  will  say  'Amen'  to  that." 

"Patriots!"  muttered  Dangeau,  and  then  fell  to 
reading  the  papers  with  bent  head  and  eyes  resolutely 
calm.  When  he  looked  up  no  one  would  have  guessed 
that  he  was  moved,  and  the  sneering  look  which  dwelt 
upon  his  face  glanced  off  again.  He  met  Vibert's  eyes 
full,  his  own  steady  with  a  cold  composure,  and  after  a 
moment  or  two  the  thin  man  shuffled  with  his  feet,  and 
spat  noisily. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "Robespierre  for  my  money;  but,  of 
course,  Danton  was  backing  you,  and  you  stand  to  lose 
by  his  fall." 

"Ah,"  said  Dangeau  softly,  "you  think  so?" 

He  looked  to  the  open  door  of  the  tent  as  he  spoke. 
The  flap  was  rolled  high  to  let  in  the  air,  and  showed 
a  slope,  planted  with  vines  in  stiff  rows,  and,  above,  a 
space  of  sky.  This  seemed  to  consist  of  one  low, 
bulging  cloud,  dark  with  suppressed  thunder,  and  in  the 
heavy  bosom  of  it  a  pulse  of  lightning  throbbed  con- 
tinually. With  each  throb  the  play  of  light  grew  more 
vivid,  whilst  out  of  the  distance  came  a  low,  answering 
boom,  the  far-off  heart-beat  of  the  storm.  Dangeau's 
eyes  rested  on  the  prospect  with  a  strange,  sardonic 
expression.  Danton  was  dead,  and  dead  with  him  all 
hopes  that  he  might  lead  a  France,  purged  terribly,  and 
regenerate  by  fire  and  blood,  to  her  place  as  the  first, 
because  the  freest,  of  nations.  Danton  was  dead,  and 
Paris  adrift,  unrestrained,  upon  a  sea  of  blood,     Danton 


Betrayal  339 

was  dead,  and  the  last,  lingering,  constructive  purpose 
had  departed  from  a  confederacy  given  over  to  a  mere 
drunken  orgy  of  destruction — slaves  to  an  ignoble 
passion  for  self-preservation.  To  Dangeau's  thought 
death  became  suddenly  a  thing  honourable  and  to  be 
desired.  From  the  public  services  of  those  days  it 
was  the  only  resignation,  and  he  saw  it  now  before 
him,  inevitable,  more  dignified  than  life  beneath  a 
squalid  yoke.  All  the  ideals  withered,  all  the  idols 
shattered,  youth  worn  through,  patriotism  chilled, 
disenchantment,  disintegration,  decay, — these  he  saw  in 
sombre  retrospect,  and  nausea,  long  repressed,  broke 
upon  him  like  a  flood. 

A  flash  brighter  than  any  before  shot  in  a  vicious  fork 
across  the  blackening  sky,  and  the  thunder  followed  it 
close,  with  a  crash  that  startled  Vibert  to  his  feet. 

Dangeau  sat  motionless,  but  when  the  reverberations 
had  died  away,  he  leaned  across  the  table,  still  with  that 
slight  smile,  and  said: 

"And  what  do  you  say  of  me  in  your  report,  Vibert?" 

Still  dazed  with  the  noise,  the  man  stared  nervously, 

"My  report,  Citizen?" 

"Your  report,  Vibert." 

"  My  report  to  the  Convention?  " 

Dangeau  laughed,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  is  en- 
joying himself.  After  the  dissimulation,  the  hateful 
necessity  for  repression  and  evasion,  frankness  was  a 
luxury. 

"Oh,  no,  my  good  Vibert,  not  your  report  to  the 
Convention.  It  is  your  report  to  Robespierre  that  I 
mean.  I  have  a  curiosity  to  know  how  you  mean  to 
put  the  thing.  '  Emotion  at  hearing  of  Danton's  death, ' 
is  that  your  line,  eh?" 

"Citizen " 


340       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"What,  protestations?  Really,  Vibert,  you  underrate 
my  intelligence.  Shall  I  tell  you  what  you  said  about 
me  last  time?" 

Vibert  shifted  his  eyes  to  the  door,  and  seemed  to 
measure  his  distance  from  it. 

"What  I  said  last  time,  Citizen?"  he  stammered. 
Once  out  of  the  tent  he  knew  he  could  break  Dangeau 
easily  enough,  but  at  present,  alone  with  a  man  who 
he  was  aware  must  be  desperate,  he  felt  a  creeping  in  his 
bones,  and  a  strong  desire  to  be  elsewhere. 

Dangeau 's  lip  lifted. 

"Be  reassured,  my  friend.  I  am  not  a  spy,  and  I 
really  have  no  idea  what  it  was  that  you  said,  though 
now  that  you  have  been  so  obligingly  transparent  I 
think  I  might  hazard  a  guess.  It  would  be  a  pity  if 
this  week's  report  were  to  contain  nothing  fresh.  Robes- 
pierre might  even  be  bored — in  the  intervals  of  killing 
his  betters." 

Vibert's  lips  closed  with  a  snap.  Here  was  reckless- 
ness, here  was  matter  enough  to  condemn  a  man  who 
stood  firmer  than  Dangeau. 

Dangeau  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  crossed  his  legs. 

"You  agree  with  me  that  that  would  be  a  pity? 
Very  well  then,  you  may  get  out  your  notebook  and 
write  the  truth  for  once.  Tell  the  incorruptible  Maxi- 
milian that  he  is  making  the  world  too  unpleasant  a 
place  for  any  self-respecting  Frenchman  to  care  about 
remaining  in  it,  and,  if  that  is  not  enough,  you  can  inform 
him  that  Danton's  blood  will  yet  call  loud  enough  to  bid 
him  down  to  hell." 

There  was  no  emotion  at  all  in  his  voice.  He  spoke 
drily,  as  one  stating  facts  too  obvious  to  require  any 
stress  of  tone,  or  emphasis. 

Vibert  was  puzzled,  but  his  nerves  were  recovering, 


Betrayal  34i 

and  he  wrote  defiantly,  looking  up  with  a  half -start  at 
every  other  word  as  if  he  expected  to  see  Dangeau's  arm 
above  him,  poised  to  strike. 

Dangeau  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,"  he  said,  with  hard  con- 
tempt. "You  are  too  obviously  suited  to  the  present 
d^b^cle  for  me  to  wish  to  remove  you  from  it.  No 
doubt  your  time  will  come,  but  I  have  no  desire  to  play 
Sanson's  part." 

Vibert  winced.  Perhaps  he  saw  the  red-edged  axe 
of  the  Revolution  poised  above  him.  When,  four  months 
later,  he  was  indeed  waiting  for  it  to  fall,  they  say  he 
cursed  Dangeau  very  heartily. 

The  lightning  stabbed  with  a  blinding  flame,  the 
thunder  crashed  scarce  a  heart-beat  behind,  and  with 
that  the  rain  began.  It  fell  in  great  gouts  and  splashes, 
with  here  and  there  a  big  hailstone,  and  for  a  minute  or 
two  the  air  seemed  full  of  water,  pierced  now  by  a  sudden 
flare  of  blue,  and  shattered  again  by  the  roar  that 
followed.  Then,  as  it  had  come,  so  it  went,  and  in  a 
moment  the  whirl  of  the  wind  swept  the  sky  clear 
again. 

Vibert  pulled  himself  together.  His  long  limbs  had 
stiffened  into  a  curious  rigidity  whilst  the  storm  was  at 
its  height,  but  now  they  came  out  of  it  with  a  jerk. 
He  thrust  his  notebook  into  the  pocket  which  bulged 
against  his  thin  form,  and  under  his  drooping  lids 
he  sent  a  queer,  inquisitive  glance  at  his  companion. 
Dangeau  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  one  arm  thrown 
carelessly  over  the  back  of  it,  his  attitude  one  of  acqui- 
escence, his  expression  that  of  a  man  released  from  some 
distasteful  task.  Vibert  had  seen  many  a  man  under 
sentence  of  death,  but  this  phase  piqued  him,  and  he 
turned  in  the  doorway. 


342       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Come  then,  Dangeau, "  he  said,  with  a  would-be 
familiar  air,  "what  made  you  do  it?  Between  col- 
leagues now?  I  may  tell  you,  you  had  fairly  puzzled  me. 
When  you  read  those  papers,  I  could  have  sworn  you 
did  not  care  a  jot,  that  it  was  all  one  to  you  who  was  at 
the  top  of  the  tree  so  you  kept  your  own  particular 
branch;  and  then,  just  as  I  was  thinking  you  had  bested 
me,  and  betrayed  nothing,  out  you  come  with  your 
*  To  hell  with  Robespierre. '    What  the  devil  took  you  ? '  * 

Dangeau  looked  at  him  with  a  strange  gleam  in  his 
eyes.  The  impulse  to  speak,  to  confide,  attacks  us  at 
curious  moments;  years  may  pass,  a  man  may  be  set  in 
all  circumstances  that  invite  betrayal,  he  may  be  closeted 
with  some  surgeon  skilled  in  the  soul's  hurts,  and  the 
impulse  may  not  wake, — and  then,  quite  suddenly,  at  an 
untoward  time,  and  to  a  listener  the  most  unlikely,  his 
soul  breaks  bounds  and  displays  its  secret  springs. 

Such  an  hour  was  upon  Dangeau  now,  and  he  experi- 
enced its  intoxication  to  the  full. 

"My  reason?"  he  said  slowly.  "My  good  Vibert,  is 
one  a  creature  of  reason?  For  me,  I  doubt  it — I  doubt 
it.  Look  at  our  reasonable  town  of  Paris,  our  reasonable 
Maximilian,  our  reasonable  guillotine.  Heavens!  how 
the  infernal  powers  must  laugh  at  us  and  our  reason." 

Then  of  a  sudden  the  sneer  dropped  out  of  his  tone, 
and  a  ring  almost  forgotten  came  to  it,  and  brought  each 
word  distinctly  to  Vibert's  ear,  though  the  voice  itself 
fell  lower  and  lower,  as  he  spoke  less  and  less  to  the  man 
in  the  tent-door  and  more  and  more  to  his  own  crys- 
tallising thoughts. 

"My  reason?  Impulse, — just  the  sheer  animal  desire 
to  strike  at  what  hurts.  What  was  reason  not  to  do  for 
us?  and  in  the  end  we  come  back  to  impulse  again.  A 
vicious  circle  everywhere.     The  wheel  turns,  and  we 


Betrayal  343 

rise,  fancying  the  stars  are  within  our  grasp.  The  wheel 
turns  on,  and  we  fall, — ^lose  the  stars  and  have  our  wage 
— a  handful  of  bloody  dust.  Louis  was  a  tyrant,  and 
he  fell.  I  had  a  hand  in  that,  and  said,  'Tyranny  is 
dead. '  Dead?  Just  Heaven!  and  in  Paris  to-day  every 
man  is  a  tyrant  who  is  not  a  victim.  Tyranny  has  the 
Hydra's  gift  of  multiplying  in  death.  Better  one  tyrant 
than  a  hundred.  Perhaps  Robespierre  thinks  that,  but 
God  knows  it  is  better  a  people  should  be  oppressed 
than  that  they  should  become  oppressors."  Here  his 
head  came  up  with  a  jerk,  and  his  manner  changed 
abruptly.  "And  then,"  he  continued,  with  a  little 
bow,  "and  then,  you  see,  I  am  so  intolerably  bored 
with  your  society,  my  good  Vibert." 

Vibert  scowled,  cursed,  and  went  out.  Half  an  hour 
afterwards  he  thought  of  several  things  he  might  have 
said,  and  felt  an  additional  rancour  against  Dangeau 
because  they  had  not  come  to  him  at  the  time.  A  mean 
creature,  Vibert,  and  not  quick,  but  very  apt  for  dirty 
work,  and  therefore  worth  his  price  to  the  Incorruptible 
Robespierre. 

Dangeau,  left  alone,  fell  to  thinking.  His  strange 
elation  was  still  upon  him,  and  he  felt  an  unwonted 
lightness  of  spirit.  He  began  to  consider  whether  he 
should  wait  to  be  arrested,  or  end  now  in  the  Roman  way. 
Suicide  was  much  in  vogue  at  the  time,  and  was  gilded 
with  a  strong  halo  of  heroics.  The  doctrine  of  a  purpose 
in  the  individual  existence  being  rejected,  the  Stoic  argu- 
ment that  life  was  a  thing  to  be  laid  down  at  will  seemed 
reasonable  enough.  It  appealed  to  the  dramatic  sense, 
a  thing  very  inherent  in  man,  and  the  records  of  the  times 
set  down  almost  as  many  suicides  as  executions.  Dan- 
geau had  often  enough  maintained  man's  right  to  re- 
linquish that  which  he  had  not  asked  to  receive,  but  at 


344        A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

this  crisis  in  his  life  there  came  up  in  him  old  teachings, 
those  which  are  imperishable,  because  they  have  their 
roots  in  an  imperishable  affection.  His  mother,  whom 
he  adored,  had  lived  and  died  a  devout  Catholic,  and 
there  came  back  to  him  now  a  strange,  faint  sense  of 
the  dignity  and  purpose  of  the  soul,  of  life  as  a  trial, 
life  as  a  trust.  It  seemed  suddenly  nobler  to  endure 
than  to  relinquish.  An  image  of  the  deserter  flitted 
through  his  brain,  to  be  followed  by  another  of  the  child 
that  pettishly  casts  away  a  broken  toy,  and  from  that 
his  mind  went  back,  back  through  the  years.  For  a 
moment  his  mother's  eyes  looked  quite  clearly  into  his, 
and  he  heard  her  voice  say,  ''Jacques,  you  do  not  listen. " 

Ah,  those  tricks  of  the  brain!  How  at  a  touch,  a 
turn  of  the  head,  a  breath,  a  scent,  the  past  rises  quick, 
and  the  brain,  phonograph  and  photograph  in  one, 
shows  us  our  dead  again,  and  brings  their  voices  to  our 
ears.  Dangeau  saw  the  chimney  corner,  and  a  crooked 
log  on  the  fire.  The  resin  in  it  boiled  up,  and  ran  down 
all  ablaze.  He  watched  it  with  wondering,  childish 
eyes,  and  heard  the  gentle  voice  at  his  ears  say,  "Jacques, 
you  do  not  listen.  ** 

It  was  there  and  gone  between  one  breath  and  the 
next,  but  it  took  with  it  the  dust  of  years,  and  left  the 
old  love  very  fresh  and  tender.  Ah — the  dear  woman, 
the  dear  mother.  "Que  Dieu  te  benisse,"  he  said 
under  his  breath. 

The  current  of  thought  veered  to  Aline,  and  at  that 
life  woke  in  him,  the  desire  to  live,  the  desire  of  her, 
the  desire  to  love.  Then  on  a  tide  of  bitterness,  "She 
will  be  free."  Quickly  came  the  answer,  "Free  and 
defenceless." 

He  sank  his  head  in  his  hands,  and,  for  the  first  time 
for  months,  deliberately  evoked  her  image. 


Betrayal  345 

It  seemed  as  if  Fate  were  concerning  herself  with 
Dangeau's  affairs,  for  she  sent  a  bullet  Vibert's  way- 
next  morning.  It  ripped  his  scalp,  and  sent  him 
bleeding  and  delirious  to  a  sick-bed  from  which  he  did 
not  rise  for  several  weeks.  It  was,  therefore,  not  until 
late  in  June  that  Robespierre  stretched  out  his  long 
arm,  and  haled  Dangeau  from  his  post  in  Spain  to  Paris 
and  the  prison  of  La  Force. 

Meanwhile  there  was  trouble  at  Rancy-les-Bois. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Desmond,  after  a  series  of  most  ad- 
venturous adventures,  had  arrived  at  B^le,  and  there, 
with  characteristic  imprudence,  proceeded  to  narrate  to 
a  much  interested  circle  of  friends  and  relatives  the  full 
and  particular  details  of  their  escape.  Rancy  was 
mentioned.  Mile  Ange  described  and  praised,  Aline's 
story  brought  in,  Madelon's  part  in  the  drama  given  its 
full  value.  Such  imprudence  may  seem  inconceivable, 
but  it  had  more  than  one  parallel. 

In  this  instance  trouble  was  not  long  in  breeding. 
Three  years  previously  Joseph  Pichon  of  BMe  had  gone 
Paris-wards  to  seek  his  fortune.  Circumstances  had 
sent  him  as  apprentice  to  M.  Bompard,  the  watchmaker 
of  Rancy's  market-town.  Here  he  stayed  two  years, 
years  which  were  enlivened  by  tender  passages  between 
him  and  Marie,  old  Bompard's  only  child.  At  the  end 
of  two  years  M.  Pichon  senior  died,  having  lost  his 
elder  son  about  six  months  before.  Joseph,  therefore, 
came  in  for  his  father's  business,  and  immediately  made 
proposals  for  the  hand  of  Mile  Marie.  Bompard  liked 
the  young  man,  Marie  declared  she  loved  him;  but  the 
times  were  ticklish.  It  was  not  the  moment  for  giving 
one's  heiress  to  a  foreigner.  Such  an  action  might  be 
unfavourably  construed,  deemed  unpatriotic;  so  Joseph 
departed  unbetrothed,  but  with  as  much  hope  as  it  is 


346       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

good  for  a  young  man  to  nourish.  His  views  were 
Republican,  his  sentiments  ardent.  By  the  time  his 
own  affairs  were  settled  it  was  to  be  hoped  that  public 
matters  would  also  be  quieter,  and  then — why,  then 
Marie  Bompard  might  become  Marie  Pichon,  no  one 
forbidding.  Imagine,  then,  the  story  of  the  Desmonds' 
escape  coming  to  the  ears  of  Joseph  the  Republican. 
He  burned  with  interest,  and,  having  more  than  a  touch 
of  the  busybody,  sat  down  and  wrote  Bompard  a  full 
account  of  the  whole  affair.  Bompard  was  annoyed. 
He  crackled  the  pages  angrily,  and  stigmatised  Joseph 
as  a  fool  and  a  meddler.  Bompard  was  fat,  and  a  good, 
kind,  easy  man;  he  desired  to  live  peaceably,  and  really 
the  times  made  it  very  difficult.  His  first  impulse  was 
to  put  the  paper  in  the  fire  and  hold  his  tongue.  Then 
he  reflected  that  he  was  not  Joseph's  only  acquaintance 
in  the  place.  If  the  young  man  were  to  write  to  Jean 
Dumont,  the  Mayor's  son,  for  instance,  and  then  it  was 
to  come  out  that  the  facts  had  been  known  to  Bompard, 
and  concealed  by  him.  "Seigneur!"  exclaimed  Bom- 
pard, mopping  his  brow,  which  had  become  suddenly 
moist.  Men's  heads  had  come  off  for  less  than  that. 
He  read  the  letter  again,  drumming  on  his  counter  the 
while,  with  a  stubby,  black-nailed  hand;  at  any  rate, 
risk  or  no  risk,  Madelon  must  not  be  mentioned.  He 
had  known  her  from  a  child;  there  was,  in  fact,  some 
very  distant  connection  between  the  families,  and  she 
was  a  good,  pretty  girl.  Bompard  was  a  fatherly  man. 
He  liked  to  chuck  a  pretty  girl  under  the  chin,  and  see 
her  blush,  and  Madelon  had  a  pleasant  trick  of  it;  and 
then,  just  now,  all  the  world  knew  she  was  expecting 
the  birth  of  her  first  child.  No,  certainly  he  would 
hold  his  tongue  about  Madelon.  He  burnt  the  letter, 
feeling  like  a  conspirator,  and  it  was  just  as  he  was 


Betrayal  347 

blowing  away  the  last  compromising  bit  of  ash  that 
Mathieu  Leroux  walked  in  upon  him. 
'  They  talked  of  the  weather  first,  and  then  of  the 
prospects  of  a  good  apple  year.  Then  Mathieu  harked 
back  to  the  old  story  of  the  fire,  worked  himself  into  a 
passion  over  it,  noted  Bompard's  confusion,  and  in  ten 
minutes  had  the  whole  story  out, — all,  that  is,  except  his 
own  daughter's  share  in  it,  and  at  that  he  guessed 
with  an  inward  fury  which  fairly  frightened  poor  fat 
Bompard. 

"Those  Desaix!"  he  exclaimed  with  an  oath.  "If 
I  'd  had  your  tale  six  weeks  ago !  Now  there  's  only 
Ange  and  the  niece.  It 's  like  Marthe  to  cheat  one  in 
the  end!" 

Bompard  looked  curiously  at  him.  He  did  not  know 
the  secret  of  Mathieu's  hostility  to  the  Desaix  family. 
Old  M^re  Anne  could  have  told  him  that  when  Marthe 
was  a  handsome,  black-eyed  girl,  Mathieu  Leroux  had 
lifted  his  eyes  high,  and  conceived  a  sullen  passion  for 
one  as  much  above  him  as  R^ne  de  Montenay  was 
above  her  sister  Ange.  The  village  talked,  Marthe 
noted  the  looks  that  followed  her  everywhere,  and  boiled 
with  pride  and  anger.  Then  one  day  Mme  de  Monte- 
nay, coldly  ignoring  all  differences  in  the  ranks  below 
her  own,  said: 

"So,  Marthe,  you  are  to  make  a  match  of  it  with 
young  Leroux";  and  at  that  the  girl  flamed  up. 

"If  we  're  not  high  enough  for  the  Chateau,  at  least 
we  're  too  high  for  the  gutter,"  she  said,  with  a  furi- 
ously pointed  glance  at  Rene  de  Montenay,  whose  eyes 
were  on  her  sister. 

Ange  turned  deadly  pale,  Ren6  flushed  to  the  roots  of 
his  hair,  Madame  bit  her  lip,  and  Charles  Leroux,  who 
was  listening  at  the  door,  took  note  of  the  bitter  words, 


348       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

and  next  time  he  was  angry  with  his  brother  flung 
them  at  him  tauntingly.  Mathieu  neither  forgot  nor 
forgave  them.  Aitet  forty  years  his  resentment  still 
festered,  and  was  to  break  at  last  into  an  open  poison. 

His  trip  to  Paris  had  furnished  him  with  the  names 
and  style  of  patriots  whose  measures  could  be  trusted  not 
to  err  on  the  side  of  leniency,  and  to  one  of  these  he 
wrote  a  hot  denunciation  of  Ange  Desaix  and  Aline 
Dangeau,  whom  he  accused  of  being  enemies  to  the 
Republic,  and  traitors  to  Liberty,  inasmuch  as  they 
had  assisted  proscribed  persons  to  emigrate.  No 
greater  crime  existed.  The  denunciation  did  its  work, 
and  in  a  trice  down  came  Commissioner  Brutus  Carr6 
to  set  up  his  tribunal  amongst  the  frightened  villagers, 
and  institute  a  little  terror  within  the  Terror  at  quiet 
Rancy-les-Bois. 

The  village  buzzed  like  a  startled  hive,  women  bent 
white  faces  over  their  household  tasks,  men  shuffled 
embarrassed  feet  at  the  inn,  glancing  suspiciously  at  one 
another,  and  all  avoiding  Mathieu's  hard  black  eyes.  At 
the  white  house  Commissioner  Brutus  Carr6  occupied 
Mile  Marthe's  sunny  room,  whilst  Ange  and  Aline  sat 
under  lock  and  key,  and  heard  wild  oaths  and  viler 
songs  defile  the  peaceful  precincts. 

Up  at  the  mill,  Madelon  lay  abed  with  her  newborn 
son  at  her  breast.  Strange  how  the  softness  and  the 
warmth  of  him  stirred  her  heart,  braced  it,  and  gave  her 
a  courage  which  amazed  Jean  Jacques.  She  lay,  a  little 
pale,  but  quite  composed,  and  fixed  her  round  brown 
eyes  upon  her  father's  scowling  face.  In  the  background 
Jean  Jacques  stood  stolidly.  He  was  quite  ready  to 
strangle  Mathieu  with  those  strong  hands  of  his,  but 
had  sufficient  wit  to  realise  that  such  a  proceeding  would 
probably  not  help  Madelon. 


Betrayal  349 

"They  were  here!"  vociferated  Mathieu  loudly. 
"You  took  them  in,  you  concealed  them,  you  helped 
them  to  get  away.  You  thought  you  had  cheated  me 
finely,  you  and  that  oaf  who  stands  there;  and  you 
thought  me  a  good,  easy  man,  one  who  would  cover 
your  fault  because  you  were  his  daughter.  I  tell  you 
I  am  a  patriot,  I!  If  my  daughter  betrays  the  Re- 
public shall  I  shield  her?  I  say  no,  a  thousand  times 
no!" 

Madelon's  clear  gaze  never  wavered.  Her  arm  held 
her  baby  tight,  and  if  her  heart  beat  heavily  no  one 
heard  it  except  the  child,  who  whimpered  a  little  and 
put  groping  hands  against  her  breast. 

"Then  you  mean  to  denounce  me?"  she  said  quite 
low. 

"Denounce  you!  Yes,  you  're  no  daughter  of  mine! 
Every  one  shall  know  that  you  are  a  traitress." 

"And  my  baby?"  asked  Madelon. 

Leroux  cursed  it  aloud,  and  the  child,  frightened  by 
the  harsh  voice,  burst  into  a  lusty  wailing  that  took 
all  its  mother's  tender  hushing  to  still. 

When  she  looked  at  her  father  again  there  was  some- 
thing very  bright  and  intent  in  her  expression. 

"Very  well,  my  father,"  she  said;  "it  is  understood 
that  you  denounce  me.  Do  you  perhaps  suppose  that 
I  shall  hold  my  tongue?" 

"Say  what  you  like,  and  be  damned  to  you!"  shouted 
Mathieu. 

Jean  Jacques  clenched  his  hands  and  took  a  step 
forward,  but  his  wife's  expression  checked  him. 

"I  may  say  what  I  like?"  she  observed. 

"The  more  the  better.  Why,  see  here,  Madelon,  if 
you  will  give  evidence  against  Ange  Desaix  and  her 
niece,  I  '11  do  my  best  to  get  you  off." 


350       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Why,  what  has  Mile  Ange  to  do  with  it?"  said 
Madelon,  open-eyed. 

Leroux  became  speechless  for  a  moment.  Then  he 
swore  volubly,  and  cursed  Madelon  for  a  liar. 

"A  liar,  and  a  damned  fool!"  he  spluttered.  "For 
now  I  '11  not  lift  a  finger  for  you,  my  girl,  and  when 
you  see  the  guillotine  ready  for  you,  perhaps  you  '11 
wish  you  'd  kept  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head. " 

"Enough!"  said  Madelon  sharply.  "Let  us  under- 
stand each  other.  If  you  speak,  I  speak  too.  If  you 
accuse  me,  I  accuse  you." 

"Accuse  me,  accuse  me, — and  of  what?" 

Madelon's  eyes  flashed. 

"You  have  a  short  memory,"  she  said;  "others  will 
not  believe  it  is  so  short.  When  I  say,  as  I  shall  say, 
that  it  was  you  that  arranged  Mile  Marguerite's  flight 
there  will  be  plenty  of  people  who  will  believe  me." 
She  paused,  panting  a  little,  and  Mathieu,  white  with 
passion,  stared  helplessly  at  her. 

Jean  Jacques,  in  the  background,  looked  from  one  to 
the  other,  amazed  to  the  point  of  wondering  whether 
he  were  asleep  or  awake.  Was  this  Madelon,  who  had 
been  afraid  of  raising  her  voice  in  her  father's  presence? 
And  what  was  all  this  about  Leroux  and  the  escape? 
It  was  beyond  him,  but  he  opened  ears  and  eyes  to 
their  widest. 

"There  is  no  proof!"  shouted  Mathieu. 

"Ah,  but  yes,"  said  Madelon  at  once;  "you  forget 
that  Mile  Marguerite  gave  you  her  diamond  shoe- 
buckles  as  a  reward  for  helping  her  and  M.  le  Chevalier 
to  get  away." 

"Shoe-buckles!"  exclaimed  Mathieu  Leroux,  his  eyes 
almost  starting  from  his  head. 

"Yes,  indeed,  shoe-buckles  with  diamonds  in  them, 


Betrayal  351 

fit  for  a  princess;  and  they  are  hidden  in  your  garden, 
my  father,  and  when  I  tell  the  Commissioner  that,  a.nd 
show  him  where  they  are  buried,  do  you  think  that 
your  patriotism  will  save  you?" 

"It  is  not  true,"  gasped  Mathieu,  putting  one  hand 
to  his  head,  where  the  hair  clung  suddenly  damp. 

"Citizen  Brutus  Carre  will  believe  it,"  returned 
Madelon  steadily. 

' '  Hell-cat !     She-devil !     You  would  not  dare ' ' 

"Yes,  I  would  dare.  I  will  dare  anything  if  you 
push  me  too  far,  but  if  you  hold  your  tongue  I  will 
hold  mine,"  said  Madelon,  looking  at  him  over  her 
baby's  head.  She  laid  her  free  arm  across  the  child 
as  she  spoke,  and  Leroux  saw  truth  and  determination 
in  her  eyes. 

Jean  Jacques  began  to  understand.  Eh,  but  Madelon 
was  clever.  A  smile  came  slowly  into  his  broad  face, 
and  his  hands  unclenched.  After  all,  there  would  be 
no  strangling.  It  was  much  better  so.  Quarrels  in 
families  were  a  mistake.  He  conceived  that  the  moment 
had  arrived  when  he  might  usefully  intervene. 

"It  is  a  mistake  to  quarrel,"  he  observed  in  his  deep, 
slow  voice. 

Mathieu  swung  round,  glaring,  and  Madelon  closed 
her  eyes  for  a  moment.  There  was  a  slight  pause, 
during  which  Jean  Jacques  met  his  father-in-law's 
furious  gaze  with  placidity. 

Then  he  said  again  : 

"Quarrels  in  families  are  a  mistake.  It  is  better  to 
live  peaceably.     Madelon  and  I  are  quiet  people." 

Leroux  gave  a  short,  enraged  grunt,  and  looked  again 
at  his  daughter.  As  he  moved  she  opened  her  eyes, 
and  he  read  in  them  an  unchanged  resolve. 

"I  don't  want  to  quarrel,  I  'm  sure, "  he  said  sulkily. 


352       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"We  don't,"  observed  Jean  Jacques  with  simplicity. 

"Then  it  is  understood.  Madelon  will  tell  no  lies 
about  me?" 

"  I  say  nothing  unless  I  am  arrested.  If  that  happens, 
I  tell  what  I  know." 

"But  you  know  nothing,"  exploded  Leroux. 

"The  shoe-buckles,"  said  Madelon. 

Leroux  stared  at  her  silently  for  a  full  minute.  Then, 
with  an  angrily-muttered  oath,  he  flung  out  of  the  room, 
shutting  the  door  behind  him  with  violence. 

Jean  Jacques  stood  scratching  his  head. 

"Eh,  Madelon,"  he  said,  "you  faced  him  grandly. 
But  when  did  he  get  those  shoe-buckles,  and  how  did 
you  know  about  them?" 

Madelon  began  to  laugh  faintly,  with  catching  breath. 

"Oh,  thou  great  stupid,"  she  panted;  "did'st  thou 
not  understand?  There  never,  never,  never  were  any 
buckles  at  all,  but  he  thought  they  were  there  in  his 
garden,  and  it  did  just  as  well,"  and  with  that  she 
buried  her  face  in  the  pillow  and  broke  into  passionate 
weeping. 

Mathieu  Leroux  held  his  tongue  about  his  daughter 
and  walked  softly  for  a  day  or  two.  Also  he  took 
much  exercise  in  his  garden,  where  he  dug  to  the  depth 
of  three  feet,  but  without  finding  anything. 

Meanwhile  Brutus  Carre  was  occupied  with  the  forms 
of  republican  justice.  His  prisoners  were  to  be  taken  to 
Paris,  since  Justice  lacked  implements  here,  and  Rancy 
owned  no  convenient  stream  where  one  might  drown  the 
accused  in  pairs,  or  sink  them  by  the  boat-load. 

Ange  Desaix  faced  him  with  a  high  look.  If  her 
ideals  were  tottering,  their  nobility  still  clung  about  her, 
wrapping  her  from  this  man's  rude  gaze. 

"I  was  a  Republican  before  the  Revolution, "  she  said, 


Betrayal  3  53 


and  her  look  drew  from  Citizen  Carr^  an  outburst  of 
venom. 

"You  are  suspect,  gravely  suspect,"  he  bellowed. 

"But,  Citizen — "  and  the  frank  gaze  grew  a  little 
bewildered. 

"But,  Citoyenne! — but.  Aristocrat!  What!  you  an- 
swer me,  you  bandy  words?  Is  treason  so  bold  in 
Rancy-les-Bois?  Truly  it  *s  time  the  wasp's  nest  was 
smoked  out.  Take  her  away ! "  and  Mile  Ange  went  out, 
still  with  that  bewildered  look. 

M .  le  Cur^  came  nex t .  There  was  a  high  flush  on  his  thin 
cheeks,  and  his  fingers  laced  and  interlaced  continually. 

When  Carr^  blustered  at  him  he  started,  leaned  for- 
ward, and  tapped  the  table  sharply. 

"I  wish  to  speak,  to  make  a  statement,"  he  said  in 
a  high,  trembling  voice. 

There  was  a  surprised  silence,  whilst  the  priest 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  spoke  as  from  the  pulpit. 

"My  children,  I  have  been  as  Judas  amongst  you,  as 
Judas  who  betrayed  his  Lord.  I  desire  to  ask  pardon  of 
the  souls  I  have  offended,  before  I  go  to  answer  for  my  sin. " 

Carre  stared  at  him. 

"Is  he  mad?"  he  asked,  with  a  brutal  laugh. 

"No,  not  mad, "  said  M.  le  Cur6  quietly. 

"Not  that  it  matters  having  a  crack  in  a  head  that  *s 
so  soon  to  come  off,"  continued  the  Commissioner. 
"Take  him  away.  When  I  want  to  hear  a  sermon  I  '11 
send  for  him";  and  out  went  the  curi. 

On  the  road  to  Paris  he  was  very  quiet,  sitting  for  the 
most  part  with  his  head  in  his  hands.  After  they 
reached  Paris,  Mile  Ange  and  Aline  saw  him  no  more. 
No  doubt  he  perished  amongst  the  hundreds  who  died 
and  left  no  sign.  As  for  the  women,  they  were  sent  to 
the  Abbaye,  and  there  waited  for  the  end. 
23 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

INMATES   OF  THE  PRISON 

IT  was  the  first  week  in  July,  and  heat  fetid  and  airless 
brooded  over  the  crowded  prison.  Mile  Ange  drooped 
daily.  To  all  consoling  words  she  made  but  one  reply 
— "C'est  fini" — and  at  last  Aline  gave  up  all  attempt  at 
rousing  her.  After  all,  what  did  it  matter  since  they 
were  all  upon  the  edge  of  death? 

There  were  six  people  in  the  small,  crowded  cell,  and 
they  changed  continually.  No  one  ever  returned,  no  one 
was  ever  released  now. 

Little  Madame  de  Verdier,  stumbling  in  half  blind  with 
tears,  sat  with  them  through  one  long  night  unsleeping. 
In  her  hand  she  held  always  the  blotted,  ill-spelled  letter 
written  at  the  scaffold's  foot  by  her  only  child,  a  lad  of 
thirteen.  In  the  morning  she  was  fetched  away,  taking 
to  her  own  death  a  lighter  heart  than  she  could  have 
borne  towards  liberty.  In  her  place  came  Jeanne  Verdier, 
ex-mistress  of  Philippe  Egalit^,  she  who  had  leaned  on 
the  rail  and  laughed  as  the  votes  went  up  for  the  King's 
death.  Her  laughing  days  were  over  now,  tears  blistered 
her  raddled  skin,  and  she  wrung  her  hands  continually 
and  moaned  for  a  priest.  When  the  gaoler  came  for  her, 
she  reeled  against  him,  fainting,  and  he  had  to  catch  her 
round  the  waist,  and  use  a  hard  word  before  he  could  get 

354 


Inmates  of  the  Prison  355 

her  across  the  threshold.  That  evening  the  door  opened, 
and  an  old  man  was  pushed  in. 

"He  is  a  hundred  at  least,  so  there  need  be  no  scan- 
dal," said  the  gaoler  with  a  wink,  and  indeed  the  old 
gentleman  tottered  to  a  corner  and  lay  there  peace- 
ably enough,  without  so  much  as  a  word  or  look  for  his 
companions. 

In  a  day  or  two,  however,  he  revived.  The  heat  which 
oppressed  the  others  seemed  to  suit  him,  and  after  a 
while  he  even  began  to  talk  a  little,  throwing  out  mys- 
terious hints  of  great  powers,  strange  influences,  and 
what  not. 

Mme  de  Lab^doy^re,  inveterate  chatterbox,  was  much 
interested. 

"He  is  somebody,'*  she  assured  Aline,  aside.  "An 
astrologer,  perhaps.  Who  knows?  He  may  be  able  to 
tell  the  future." 

"I  have  no  future,"  said  the  melancholy  Mme  de 
Vieuxmesnil  with  a  deep  sigh.  "  No  one  can  bring  back 
the  past,  not  even  le  bon  Dieu  Himself,  and  that  is  all  I 
care  for  now." 

The  little  Lab^doy^re  shrugged  her  plump  shoulders, 
and  old  Mme  de  Breteuil  struck  into  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"He  reminds  me  of  some  one,"  she  said,  turning  her 
bright  dark  eyes  upon  the  old  man's  face.  He  was  lean- 
ing against  the  wall,  dozing,  his  fine-cut  features  pallid 
with  a  clear  yellowish  pallor  like  dead  ivory.  As  she 
looked  his  eyes  opened,  very  blue,  through  the  mist  which 
age  and  drowsiness  hung  over  them.  He  smiled  a  little 
and  sat  up,  rubbing  his  thin  hands  slowly,  as  if  they  felt 
a  chill  even  on  that  stifling  afternoon. 

"The  ladies  do  me  the  honour  of  discussing  me,"  he 
said  in  his  queer,  level  voice,  from  which  all  the  living 


356       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

quality  seemed  to  have  drained  away,  leaving  it  steadily 
passionless. 

"I  was  thinking  I  had  seen  you  somewhere,"  said 
Mme  de  Breteuil,  "and  perhaps  if  Monsieur  were  to  tell 
me  his  name,  I  should  remember." 

He  smiled  again. 

"My  name  is  Aristide,"  he  said,  and  seemed  to  be 
waiting  for  a  sensation.  The  ladies  looked  at  one  another 
puzzled.  Only  Mme  de  Breteuil  frowned  a  moment, 
and  then  clapped  her  hands. 

"I  have  it — ah,  Monsieur  Aristide,  it  is  so  many 
years  ago.  I  think  we  won't  say  how  many,  but  all 
Paris  talked  about  you  then.  They  called  you  the 
Sorcerer,  and  one's  priest  scolded  one  soundly  if  one  so 
much  as  mentioned  your  name." 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  man  with  a  nod. 

"Well,  you  have  forgotten  it,  I  daresay,  but  I  came  to 
see  you  then,  I  and  my  sister-in-law,  Jeanne  de  Breteuil. 
In  those  days  the  future  interested  me  enormously,  but 
when  I  got  into  the  room,  and  thought  that  perhaps  I 
should  see  the  devil,  I  was  scared  to  death;  and  as  to 
Jeanne,  she  pinched  me  black  and  blue.  There  was  a 
pool  of  ink,  and  a  child  who  saw  pictures  in  it." 

"Oh,  but  how  delightful,"  exclaimed  Julie  de  Lab^- 
doy^re. 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear,  it  was  most  alarming." 

"But  what  did  he  tell  you?" 

The  old  lady  bridled  a  little. 

"Oh,  a  number  of  things  that  would  interest  nobody 
now,  though  at  the  time  they  were  extremely  absorbing. 
But  one  thing  you  told  me.  Monsieur,  and  that  was  that 
I  should  die  in  a  foreign  land,  and  I  assure  you  I  find  it 
a  vastly  consoling  prophecy  at  present." 

"  It  is  true, "  said  Aristide,  fixing  his  blue  eyes  upon  her. 


Inmates  of  the  Prison  357 

"To  be  sure,"  she  continued,  "you  told  Jeanne  she 
would  have  three  husbands,  and  a  child  by  each  of  them, 
all  of  which  came  most  punctually  to  pass ;  but,  Monsieur, 
I  fear  now  that  Jeanne  will  have  my  prophecy  as  well  as 
her  own,  since  she  had  the  sense  to  leave  France  two 
years  ago  when  it  was  still  possible,  and  I  was  foolish 
enough  to  stay  here." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  and  leaned  back  again, 
closing  his  eyes. 

"What  is  the  future  to  us  now?"  said  Mme  de  Vieux- 
mesnil  in  a  low  voice.     "  It  holds  nothing. " 

"Are  you  so  sure?"  asked  Aristide,  and  she  started, 
turning  a  little  paler,  but  Mme  de  Labedoyere  turned 
on  him  with  vivacity. 

"Oh,  but  can  you  really  tell  the  future?"  she  asked. 

"When  there  is  a  future  to  tell,"  he  said,  stroking  his 
white  beard  with  a  thin  transparent  hand,  and  his  eyes 
rested  curiously  upon  her  as  he  spoke.  Something  in 
their  expression  made  old  Mme  de  Breteuil  shiver  a 
little. 

"Even  now  he  frightens  me,"  she  whispered  to  Aline, 
but  Julie  de  Lab^doydre  had  clasped  her  hands. 

"Oh,  but  how  ravishing,"  she  exclaimed.  "Tell  us 
then.  Monsieur,  tell  us  all  our  futures.  I  am  ready  to 
die  of  dulness,  and  so  I  am  sure  are  these  ladies.  It  will 
really  be  a  deed  of  charity  if  you  will  amuse  us  for  an 
hour." 

"The  future  is  not  always  amusing, "  said  Aristide  with 
a  slight  chilly  smile.  "Also,"  he  added  after  a  pause, 
"there  is  no  child  here.  I  need  one  to  read  the  visions 
in  the  pool  of  ink." 

"The  gaoler  has  a  tribe  of  children,"  said  Mme  de 
LabMoydre  eagerly.  "I  have  a  little  money.  If  I 
made  him  a  present  he  would  send  us  one." 


35^       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

**It  must  be  a  young  child,  under  seven  years  old.** 

"But  why?" 

"The  eyes,  Madame,  must  be  clear.  With  conscious 
sin,  with  the  first  touch  of  sorrow,  the  first  breath  of 
passion,  there  comes  a  mist,  and  the  visions  are  read  no 
longer." 

"Well,  there  are  children  enough,"  she  answered  with 
a  shrug.  "I  have  seen  a  little  girl  of  about  five, — 
Marie,  I  think  she  is  called:  we  will  ask  for  her." 

Almost  as  she  spoke  the  door  was  thrown  open  and 
the  gaoler  entered.  He  brought  another  prisoner  to 
share  the  already  crowded  room.  If  Paris  streets  were 
silent  and  empty,  her  prisons  were  full  enough.  This 
was  a  pale  slip  of  a  girl,  with  a  pitiful  hacking  cough. 
She  entered  listlessly,  and  sank  down  in  a  corner  as  if 
she  had  not  strength  to  stand. 

"The  end  of  the  journey,"  said  Aristide  under  his 
breath,  but  Mme  de  Labedoy^re  was  by  the  gaoler's  side 
talking  volubly. 

"It  is  only  for  an  hour, — and  see — "  here  something 
slipped  from  her  hand  to  his.  "It  will  be  a  diversion 
for  the  child,  and  for  us,  mon  Dieu,  it  may  save  our 
lives!  How  would  you  feel  if  you  were  to  find  us  all 
dead  one  morning  just  from  sheer  ennui?" 

"I  don't  know  that  I  should  fret,"  said  the  man  with 
a  grin,  and  Mme  de  Lab^doy^re  bit  her  lip. 

"But  you  will  lend  us  Marie,"  she  said  insistently. 

"Oh,  if  you  like,  and  if  she  will  come.  It  is  nothing 
to  me,  and  she  is  not  of  an  age  to  have  her  princi- 
ples corrupted,"  said  the  man,  laughing  at  his  own 
wit. 

He  went  out  with  a  jingle  of  keys,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes the  door  opened  once  more,  and  a  serious-eyed 
person  of  about  five  years  old  staggered  in,  carrying  a 


Inmates  of  the  Prison  359 

very  fat,  heavy  baby,  whose  sleepy  head  nodded  across 
her  shoulder. 

She  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  came  in,  closed  the 
door,  and  finally  sat  down  between  Aline  and  Mile  Ange, 
disposing  the  baby  upon  her  diminutive  lap. 

*'This  is  Mutius  Scaevola,"  she  volunteered;  "my 
mother  washes  and  I  am  in  charge.  He  is  very  sleepy, 
but  one  is  never  sure.  He  is  a  wicked  baby.  Some- 
times he  roars  so  that  the  roof  comes  off  one's  head. 
Then  my  mother  says  it  is  my  fault,  and  slaps  me." 

"Give  him  to  me,"  said  Mile  Ange  suddenly. 

The  serious  Marie  regarded  her  for  a  moment,  and 
then  allowed  her  charge  to  be  transferred  to  the  stranger's 
lap,  where  he  promptly  fell  fast  asleep. 

"  Come  here,  my  child, "  said  the  old  gentleman  in  the 
corner,  and  Marie  went  to  him  obediently. 

He  had  poured  ink  into  his  palm,  and  now  held  it  under 
her  eyes,  putting  his  other  arm  gently  round  the  child. 

"Look  now,  little  one.  Look  and  tell  us  what  you 
see,  and  you,  Madame,"  he  said,  beckoning  to  Mme  de 
Labedoy^re,  "come  nearer  and  put  your  hand  upon  her 
head." 

"Do  you  see  anything,  child?" 

"I  see  ink,"  said  Marie  sedately.  "It  will  make 
your  hand  very  dirty,  sir.  Once  I  got  some  on  my 
frock,  and  it  never  came  out.     I  was  beaten  for  that." 

"Hush,  then,  little  one,  and  look  into  the  ink.  Pre- 
sently there  will  be  pictures  there.  Then  you  may  speak 
and  tell  us  what  you  see." 

Silence  fell  on  the  small  hot  room.  Ange  Desaix 
rocked  softly  with  the  sleeping  child.  She  was  the  only 
one  who  never  even  glanced  at  the  astrologer  and  his 
pupil. 

Presently  Marie  said : 


360       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

''Monsieur,  there  is  a  picture.'* 

"What  then,  say?" 

"A  boy,  with  a  broom,  sweeping.*' 

He  nodded  gravely. 

"Yes,  yes.     Watch  well ;  the  pictures  come. " 

"He  has  made  a  clean  place,"  said  the  child,  "and  on 
the  clean  place  there  is  a  shadow.  Ah,  now  it  turns  into 
a  lady — ^into  this  lady  whose  hand  is  on  my  head.  She 
stands  and  looks  at  me,  and  a  man  comes  and  catches  her 
by  the  neck  and  cuts  off  her  hair.  That  is  a  pity,  for  her 
hair  is  very  long  and  fine.     Why  does  he  cut  it?" 

"Mon  Dieu!"  said  Mme  de  Labedoy^re  with  a  sob. 
She  released  the  child  and  sat  down  by  the  wall,  leaning 
against  it,  her  eyes  wide  with  fear. 

"You  asked  to  see  the  future,  Madame, "  said  the  old 
man  impassively. 

"Can  you  show  the  past?"  asked  Mme  de  Vieux- 
mesnil,  half  hesitatingly. 

"Assuredly.  You  must  touch  the  child,  and  think  of 
what  you  wish  to  see." 

She  came  forward  and  put  out  her  hand,  but  drew  it 
quickly  back  again. 

"No,"  she  murmured;  "it  is  perhaps  a  sin.  I  am 
too  near  the  end  for  that,  and  when  one  cannot  even 
confess. " 

"As  you  will,"  said  the  old  man. 

"And  you,  Madame,"  he  turned  to  Aline,  "is  there 
nothing  you  would  know;  no  one  for  whose  welfare  you 
are  anxious?" 

She  started,  for  he  had  read  her  thoughts,  which  were 
full  of  Dangeau.  It  was  months  now  since  any  word 
had  come  from  him,  and  she  longed  inexpressibly  for 
tidings.  Lawful  or  unlawful,  she  would  try  this  way, 
since  there  was  no  other.     She  laid  her  hand  lightly  on 


Inmates  of  the  Prison  361 

the  little  girl's  head,  and  once  more  the  child  looked  into 
the  dark  pool. 

"There  are  so  many  people, "  she  said  at  last.  "They 
run  to  and  fro,  and  wave  their  arms.  That  makes  one's 
head  ache." 

"Go  on  looking,"  said  Aristide. 

"There  is  a  lady  there  now.  It  is  this  lady.  She 
looks  very  frightened.  Some  one  has  put  a  red  cap  on 
her  head.  Ah — now  a  gentleman  comes.  He  takes  her 
hand  and  puts  a  ring  on  it.     Now  he  kisses  her. " 

Aline  drew  away.  The  clamour  and  the  crowd,  the 
hasty  wedding,  the  cold  first  kiss,  all  swam  together  in 
her  mind. 

"That  is  the  past,"  she  said  in  a  low,  strained  voice. 
"Tell  me  where  he  is  now.  Is  he  alive?  Where  is  he? 
Shall  I  see  him  again?" 

She  had  forgotten  her  surroundings,  the  listeners,  Mme 
de  Breteuil's  sharp  eyes.  She  only  looked  eagerly  at 
Aristide,  and  he  nodded  once  or  twice,  and  laid  her  hand 
again  on  the  child's  head. 

"She  shall  look,"  he  said,  but  Marie  lifted  weary 
eyes. 

"Monsieur,  I  am  tired,"  she  said. 

"Just  this  once  more,  little  one.  Then  you  shall 
sleep,"  and  she  turned  obediently  and  bent  again  over 
his  hand. 

"I  do  not  like  this  picture,"  she  said  fretfully. 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  do  not  know.  There  is  a  platform,  with  a  ladder 
that  goes  up.  I  cannot  see  the  top.  Ah — there  is  the 
lady  again.  She  goes  up  the  ladder.  Her  hair  is  cut  off, 
close  to  the  head.  That  is  not  at  all  pretty,  but  it  is 
the  same  lady,  and  the  gentleman  is  there  too." 

"What  gentleman?"  asked  Aline,  in  a  clear  voice. 


362       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

■  "The  same  who  was  in  the  other  picture,  who  put  the 
ring  upon  your  finger  and  kissed  your  forehead.  It  is 
he,  a  tall  monsieur  with  blue  eyes.  He  has  no  hat  on, 
and  his  arms  are  tied  behind  him.  Oh,  I  do  not  like 
this  picture.  Need  I  look  any  more?"  and  her  voice 
took  a  wailing  sound. 

"No,  it  is  enough,"  said  Aline  gently. 

She  drew  the  child  away  and  sat  down  by  Mile  Ange, 
who  still  rocked  the  sleeping  baby.  Marie  leaned  her 
head  beside  her  brother's  and  shut  her  eyes.  Ange 
Desaix  put  an  arm  about  her  too,  and  she  slept. 

But  Aristide  was  still  looking  at  Aline. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  he  said  under  his  breath. 
"You  have  none  of  the  signs,  none  of  them.  Now 
she," — he  indicated  Mme  de  Labedoy^re,  "one  can  see 
it  at  a  glance.  A  short  life,  and  a  death  of  violence, 
but  with  you  it  is  different.     Give  me  your  hand. " 

He  was  within  reach,  and  she  put  it  out  half  mechan- 
ically. He  looked  at  it  long,  and  then  laid  it  back  in 
her  lap. 

"You  have  a  long  life  still,"  he  said,  "a  long,  pros- 
perous life.  The  child  was  tired,  she  read  amiss.  The 
sign  was  not  for  you. " 

Aline  shook  her  head.  It  did  not  seem  to  matter 
very  much  now.  She  was  so  tired.  What  was  death? 
At  least,  if  the  vision  were  true,  she  would  see  her 
husband  again.  They  woiild  forgive  one  another,  and 
she  would  be  able  to  forget  his  bitter  farewell  look. 

Meanwhile  Dangeau  waited  for  death  in  La  Force. 
His  cell  contained  only  one  inmate,  a  man  who  seemed 
to  have  sustained  some  serious  injury  to  the  head,  since 
he  lay  swathed  in  bandages  and  moaned  continually. 

"Who  is  he?"  he  asked  Defarge,  the  gaoler,  and  the 
man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


Inmates  of  the  Prison  363 

"  One  there  is  enough  coil  about  for  ten, "  he  grumbled. 
"One  pays  that  he  should  have  a  cell  to  himself,  and 
another  sends  him  milk.  It  seems  he  is  wanted  to  live, 
since  this  morning  I  get  orders  to  admit  a  surgeon  to 
him.  Bah!  If  he  knew  when  he  was  well  off,  he 
would  make  haste  and  die.  For  me,  I  would  prefer 
that  to  sneezing  into  Sanson's  basket;  but  what  would 
you?     No  one  is  ever  contented. " 

That  afternoon  the  surgeon  came,  a  brisk,  round- 
bodied  person  with  a  light  roving  hazel  eye,  and  quick, 
clever  hands.  He  fell  to  his  work,  and  after  loitering  a 
moment  Defarge  went  out,  leaving  the  door  open,  and 
passing  occasionally,  when  he  woiild  pop  his  head  in, 
grumble  a  little,  and  pass  on  again. 

Dangeau  watched  idly.  Something  in  the  little  man's 
appearance  seemed  familiar,  but  for  the  moment  he 
coiild  not  place  him.  Suddenly,  however,  the  busy 
hands  ceased  their  work  for  a  moment,  and  the  surgeon 
glanced  sharply  over  his  shotdder.  "Here,  can  you 
hold  this  for  me?"  and  as  Dangeau  knelt  opposite 
to  him  and  put  his  finger  to  steady  the  bandage,  he 
said: 

"I  know  your  face.     Where  have  I  seen  you,  eh?" 

"And  I  know  yours.     My  name  is  Dangeau." 

"Aha — I  thought  so.  You  were  Edmond's  friend. 
Poor  Edmond!  But  what  would  you?  He  was  too 
imprudent." 

"Yes,  I  was  Edmond  Clery's  friend,"  said  Dangeau; 
"and  you  are  his  uncle.  I  met  you  with  him  once. 
Citizen  Goyot,  is  it  not?" 

"At  your  service.     There,  that's  finished." 

"Who  is  he;  will  he  live?"  asked  Dangeau,  as  the 
patient  twitched  and  groaned. 

Goyot  shrugged. 


364       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"He  has  friends  who  want  him  to  live,  and  ene- 
mies who  are  almost  as  anxious  that  he  should  n't  die." 

"A  riddle,  Citizen?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  You  may  conceive,  if  you  will, 
that  his  friends  desire  his  assistance,  and  that  his  enemies 
desire  him  to  compromise  his  friends. " 

"Ah,  it  is  that  way?" 

" I  did  not  say  so, "  said  Goyot.  "Good-day,  Citizen, " 
and  he  departed,  leaving  Dangeau  something  to  think 
about,  and  a  new  interest  in  his  fellow-prisoner. 

Next  day  behold  Goyot  back  again.  He  enlisted 
Dangeau's  services  at  once,  and  Defarge  having  left 
them,  shutting  the  door  this  time,  he  observed  with  a 
keen  look: 

"I  've  been  refreshing  my  memory  about  you,  Citizen 
Dangeau." 

"Indeed." 

"Yes;  you  still  have  a  friend  or  two.  Who  says  the 
days  of  miracles  are  over?  You  have  been  away  a  year 
and  are  not  quite  forgotten." 

"And  what  did  my  friends  say?"  asked  Dangeau, 
smiling  a  little. 

"They  said  you  were  an  honest  man.  I  said  there 
were  n't  two  in  Paris.  They  declared  you  were  one  of 
them." 

"Ciel,  Citizen,  you  are  a  pessimist." 

"Optimists  lose  their  heads  these  days,"  said  Goyot 
with  a  grimace.  "But  after  all  one  must  trust  some 
one,  or  one  gets  no  further." 

"Certainly." 

"Well,  we  want  to  get  further,  that  is  all." 

*  *  Your  meaning ,  Citizen  ?  " 

"Mon  Dieu,  must  I  dot  all  the  i's?" 

"Well,  one  or  two  perhaps." 


Inmates  of  the  Prison  365 

"I  have  a  patient  sicker  than  this,"  said  Goyot 
abruptly. 

''Yes?" 

"  France,  *' he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

Dangeau  gave  a  deep  sigh. 

*'You  are  right,"  he  said. 

"  Of  course,  it 's  my  trade.  The  patient  is  very  ill. 
Too  much  blood-letting — you  understand?  There  's  a 
gangrene  which  is  eating  away  the  flesh,  poisoning  the 
whole  body.     It  must  be  cut  out. " 

"Robespierre." 

"Mon  Dieu,  Citizen,  no  names!  Though,  to  be  sure, 
that  one  's  in  the  air.  A  queer  thing  human  nature.  I 
knew  him  well  years  ago.  You  'd  have  said  he  could  n't 
hurt  a  fly;  would  turn  pale  at  the  mention  of  an  exe- 
cution; and  now, — well,  they  say  the  appetite  comes 
with  eating,  and  life  is  a  queer  comedy." 

"Comedy?"  said  Dangeau  bitterly.  "It's  tragedy 
that  fills  the  boards  for  most  of  us  to-day." 

"Ah!  that  depends  on  how  you  take  it.  Keep  an 
eye  on  the  ridiculous:  foster  it,  play  for  it,  and  you  have 
farce.  Take  things  lightly,  with  a  turn  of  wit  and  a 
playful  way,  and  it  is  comedy.  Tragedy  demands  less 
effort,  I  '11  admit,  but  for  me — Vive  la  Com^die.  We 
are  discussing  the  ethics  of  the  drama,"  he  ex- 
plained to  Defarge,  who  poked  his  head  in  at  this 
juncture. 

"Will  that  mend  his  head?"  inquired  the  gaoler 
with  a  scowl. 

"Ah,  my  dear  Defarge,  that,  I  fear,  is  past  praying 
for;  but  I  have  better  hopes  of  my  other  patient. " 

"Who  's  that?"  asked  the  man,  staring. 

"A  lady,  my  friend,  in  whom  Citizen  Dangeau  is 
interested.     A  surgical  case — but  I  have  great  hopes, 


366      A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

great  hopes  of  curing  her,"  and  with  that  he  went  out, 
smiling  and  talking  all  the  way  down  the  corridor. 

Dangeau  grew  to  look  for  his  coming.  Sometimes  he 
merely  got  through  his  work  as  quickly  as  possible,  but 
occasionally  he  would  drop  some  hint  of  a  plot, — of  plans 
to  overthrow  Robespierre. 

"The  patient's  friends  are  willing  now,"  he  said  one 
day.  "  It  is  a  matter  of  seizing  the  favourable  moment. 
Meanwhile  one  must  have  patience." 

Dangeau  smiled  a  trifle  grimly.  Patience,  when  one's 
head  is  under  the  axe,  may  be  a  desirable,  but  it  is  not 
an  easily  cultivated,  virtue. 

Life  had  begun  to  look  sweet  to  him  once  more.  The 
mood  in  which  he  had  suddenly  flung  defiance  at  Robes- 
pierre was  past,  and  if  the  old,  vivid  dreams  came  back 
no  more,  yet  the  dark  horizon  began  to  show  a  sober 
gleam  of  hope. 

Every  sign  proclaimed  the  approaching  fall  of  Robes- 
pierre, and  Dangeau  looked  past  the  Nation's  temporary 
delirium  to  a  time  of  convalescence,  when  the  State, 
restored  to  sanity,  might  be  built  up,  if  not  towards 
perfection,  at  least  in  the  direction  of  sober  statesman- 
ship and  peaceful  government. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 
THROUGH  DARKNESS  TO  LIGHT 

SO  dawned  the  morning  of  the  twenty-seventh  of 
July,  the  9th  Thermidor  in  the  new  Calendar  of 
the  Revolution.  A  very  hot,  still  day,  with  a  veiled 
sky  dreaming  of  thunder.  Dangeau  had  passed  a  very 
disturbed  night,  for  his  fellow-prisoner  was  worse.  The 
long  unconsciousness  yielded  at  last,  and  slid  through 
vague  mutterings  into  a  high  delirium,  which  tasked  his 
utmost  strength  to  control.  Goyot  was  to  come  early, 
since  this  development  was  not  entirely  unexpected; 
but  the  morning  passed,  and  still  he  did  not  appear. 
By  two  o'clock  the  patient  was  in  a  stupour  again,  and 
visibly  within  an  hour  or  two  of  the  end.  No  skill  could 
avail  him  now. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Dangeau 
heard  himself  summoned. 

"Your  time  at  last,"  said  Defarge,  and  he  followed 
the  man  without  a  word.  In  the  corridor  they  met 
Goyot,  his  hair  much  rumpled,  his  eyes  bright  and 
restless  with  excitement. 

"You?     Where  are  you  going?"  he  panted. 

"Where  does  one  go  nowadays?"  returned  Dangeau, 
with  a  slight  shrug. 

"No,  no,"  exclaimed  Goyot.  "It's  not  possible. 
We  had  arranged — your  name  was  to  be  kept  back." 

367 


368       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Bah,"  said  Defarge,  spitting  on  the  ground.  "You 
need  not  look  at  me  like  that,  Citizen.  It  is  not  my 
fault.  You  know  that  well  enough.  Orders  come,  and 
must  be  obeyed.  I  'm  neither  blind  nor  deaf.  Things 
are  changing  out  there,  I  *m  told,  but  orders  are  orders, 
and  a  plain  man  looks  no  further." 

Goyot  caught  at  Dangeau's  arm. 

"We'll  save  you  yet,"  he  said.  "Robespierre  is 
down.  Accused  this  morning  in  Convention.  They  *re 
all  at  his  throat  now.  Keep  a  good  heart,  my  friend; 
his  time  has  come  at  last." 

"And  mine,"  returned  Dangeau. 

"No,  no, — I  tell  you  there  is  hope.  It  is  only  a 
matter  of  hours." 

"Just  so." 

Defarge  interposed. 

"  Ciel,  Citizens,  are  we  to  stand  here  all  day?  Citizen 
Goyot,  your  patient  is  dying,  and  you  had  better  see  to 
him.  This  citizen  and  I  have  an  engagement, — yes, 
and  a  pressing  one." 

An  hour  later  Dangeau  passed  in  to  take  his  trial. 
His  predecessor's  case  had  taken  a  scant  five  minutes, 
so  simple  a  matter  had  the  death  penalty  become. 

Fouquier  Tinville  seated  himself,  his  sharp  features 
more  like  the  fox's  mask  than  ever,  only  now  it  was  the 
fox  who  hears  the  hounds  so  close  upon  his  heels  that  he 
dares  not  look  behind  to  see  how  close  they  are.  Fear 
does  not  improve  the  temper,  and  he  nodded  maliciously 
at  his  former  colleague. 

"Name,"  he  rapped  out,  voice  and  eye  alike  vicious. 

With  smooth  indifference  Dangeau  repeated  his 
names,  and  added  with  a  touch  of  amusement: 

"You  know  me  and  my  names  well  enough,  or  did 
once,  my  good  Tinville." 


Through  Darkness  to  Light         369 

The  thin  lips  lifted  in  a  snarl. 

"That,  my  friend,  was  when  you  were  higher  in  the 
world  than  you  are  now.     Place  of  abode?" 

Dangeau's  gaze  went  past  him.  He  shrugged  his 
shoulders  with  a  faintly  whimsical  effect. 

"Shall  we  say  the  edges  of  the  world?"  he  suggested. 

Fouquier  Tinville  spat  on  the  floor  and  leaned  over 
the  table  with  a  yellow  glitter  in  his  ^yes. 

"How  does  it  feel?"  he  sneered.  "The  edges  of  the 
world.  Ma  foi,  how  does  it  feel  to  look  over  them  into 
annihilation?" 

Dangeau  returned  his  look  with  composure. 

"I  imagine  you  may  soon  have  an  opportunity  of 
judging,"  he  observed. 

At  Tinville's  right  hand  a  man  sat  drumming  on  the 
table.  Now  he  looked  up  sharply,  exhibiting  a  dead 
white  face,  where  the  lips  hung  loose,  and  the  eyes 
showed  wildly  bloodshot. 

"But  if  one  could  know  first,"  he  said  in  a  shaking 
voice.  "When  one  is  so  close  and  looks  over,  one 
should  see  more  than  others.  I  have  asked  so  many 
what  they  saw.  I  asked  Danton.  He  said  '  The  void. ' 
Do  you  think  it  is  that?  As  man  to  man  now,  Dangeau, 
do  you  think  there  is  anything  beyond  or  not?" 

Dangeau  recognised  him  with  a  movement  of  half- 
contemptuous  pity.  It  was  Duval,  the  actor  who  had 
taken  to  politics  and  drink,  and  sold  his  soul  for  a  bribe 
of  Robespierre's. 

Tinville  plucked  him  down  with  a  curse. 

"Tiens,  Duval,  you  grow  too  mad,"  he  said  angrily. 
"You  and  your  beyond.     What  should  there  be?" 

"If  there  were, — Hell,"  muttered  Duval,  with  shaking 
lips.     Tinville  banged  the  table. 

"Am  I  to  have  all  the  Salp^tri^re  here?"  he  shouted. 
34 


370       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

"Have  n't  we  cut  off  enough  priests*  heads  yet?  I  tell 
you  we  have  abolished  Heaven,  and  Purgatory,  and 
Hell,  and  all  the  rest  of  those  child's  tales." 

A  murmur  of  applause  ran  round.  Duval's  hand 
went  to  his  breast,  and  drew  out  a  flask.  He  drank 
furtively,  and  leaned  back  again. 

Dangeau  was  moving  away,  but  he  turned  for  a 
moment,  the  old  sparkle  in  his  eyes. 

"My  felicitations,  Tinville,"  he  observed  with  a 
casual  air. 

"On  what?'* 

Dangeau  smiled  politely. 

"The  convenience  for  you  of  having  abolished  Hell! 
It  is  a  masterstroke.  It  only  remains  for  me  to  wish 
you  an  early  opportunity  of  verifying  your  statements." 

"Take  him  out,"  said  Tinville,  stamping  his  foot,  and 
Dangeau  went  down  the  steps,  and  into  the  long  ad- 
joining room  where  the  prisoners  waited  for  the  tum- 
brils. It  was  too  much  trouble  now  to  take  them  back 
again  to  prison,  so  the  Justice  Hall  was  itself  the  ante- 
chamber of  the  guillotine.  It  was  hot,  and  Dangeau 
felt  the  lassitude  which  succeeds  a  strain.  Of  what  use 
to  bandy  words  with  Fouquier  Tinville,  of  what  use 
anything,  since  the  last  word  lay  with  the  strongest, 
and  this  hour  was  the  hour  of  his  death?  It  is  very 
difficult  for  a  strong  man,  with  his  youth  still  vigorous 
in  every  vein,  to  realise  that  for  him  hope  and  fear,  joy 
and  pain,  struggle  and  endurance,  are  all  at  an  end, 
and  that  the  next  step  is  that  final  one  into  the  blind 
and  unknown  pathways  of  the  infinite. 

He  thought  of  Robespierre,  out  there  in  the  tideway 
fighting  for  his  life  against  the  inexorable  waves  of  Fate. 
Even  now  the  water  crept  salt  and  sickly  about  his 
mouth.     Well,  if  it  drowned  him,  and  swept  France  clean 


Through  Darkness  to  Light        371 

again,  what  did  it  matter  if  the  swirl  of  the  tide  swept 
Dangeau  from  his  foothold  too? 

Absorbed  in  thought,  he  took  no  note  of  his  com- 
panions in  misfortune.  There  was  a  small  crowd  of 
them  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  a  gendarme  or  two 
stood  gossiping  by,  and  there  was  a  harsh  clipping 
sound  now  and  again,  for  the  prisoners'  hair  was  a 
perquisite  of  the  concierge's  wife,  and  it  was  cut  off 
here,  before  they  went  to  the  scaffold. 

The  woman  stood  by  to-day  and  watched  it  done. 
The  perquisite  was  a  valuable  one,  and  on  the  previous 
day  she  had  been  much  annoyed  by  the  careless  cutting 
which  had  ruined  a  magnificent  head  of  auburn  hair. 
To-day  she  had  noted  that  one  of  the  women  had  a 
valuable  crop,  and  she  was  instant  in  her  directions  for 
its  cutting.  Presently  she  pushed  past  Dangeau  and 
lifted  the  lid  of  a  basket  which  hung  against  the  wall. 
His  glance  followed  her  idly,  and  saw  that  the  basket 
was  piled  high  with  human  hair.  The  woman  muttered 
to  herself  as  her  eye  rested  on  the  ruined  auburn  locks. 
Then  she  took  to-day's  spoil,  tress  by  tress,  from  her 
apron,  knotting  the  hair  roughly  together,  and  dropping 
it  into  the  open  basket.  Dangeau  watched  her  with  a 
curious  sick  sensation.  The  contrast  between  the 
woman's  unsexed  face  and  the  pitiful  relics  she  handled 
affected  him  disagreeably,  but  beyond  this  he  experi- 
enced a  strange,  tingling  sensation  unlike  anything  in 
his  recollection. 

The  auburn  hair  was  hidden  now  by  a  bunch  of  gay 
black  curls.  A  long,  straight,  flaxen  mass  fell  next, 
and  then  a  thick  waving  tress,  gold  in  the  light,  and 
brown  in  the  shade,  catching  the  sun  that  crossed  it 
for  a  moment,  as  Aline 's  hair  had  always  done. 

He  shuddered  through  all  his  frame,  and  turned  away. 


372       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

Thank  God,  thank  God  she  was  safe  at  Rancy!  And 
with  that  a  sudden  movement  parted  the  crowd  at  the 
other  side  of  the  room,  and  he  looked  across  and  saw 
her. 

He  had  heard  of  visions  in  the  hour  of  death,  but  as 
he  gazed,  a  cold  sweat  broke  upon  his  brow,  and  he  knew 
it  was  she  herself,  Aline,  his  wife,  cast  for  death  as  he 
was  cast.  Her  profile  was  towards  him,  cut  sharply 
against  the  blackened  wall.  Her  face  was  lifted.  Her 
eyes  dwelt  on  the  patch  of  sky  which  an  open  window 
gave  to  view.  How  changed,  O  God,  how  changed 
she  was !  How  visibly  upon  the  threshold.  The  beauty 
had  fallen  away  from  her  face,  leaving  it  a  mere  frail 
mask,  but  out  of  her  eyes  looked  a  spirit  serenely  touched 
with  immortality.  It  is  the  look  worn  only  by  those  who 
are  about  to  die,  and  look  past  death  into  the  Presence. 

It  was  a  look  that  drove  the  blood  from  Dangeau's 
heart;  a  wave  of  intolerable  anger  against  Fate,  of 
intolerable  anguish  for  the  wife  so  found  again,  swept  it 
back  again.  He  moved  to  go  to  her,  and  as  he  did  so, 
saw  a  man  approach  and  begin  to  pinion  her  arms, 
whilst  the  opening  of  a  door  and  the  roll  of  wheels 
outside  proclaimed  the  arrival  of  the  tumbrils.  In  the 
same  moment  Dangeau  accosted  the  man,  his  last  coin 
in  his  hand. 

"This  for  you  if  you  will  get  me  into  the  same  cart  as 
this  lady,  and  see,  friend,  let  it  be  the  last  one." 

What  desperate  relic  of  spent  hope  prompted  his  last 
words  he  hardly  knew,  for  after  all  what  miracle  could 
Goyot  work?  but  at  least  he  would  have  a  few  more 
minutes  to  gaze  at  Aline  before  the  darkness  blotted  out 
her  face. 

Jean  Legros,  stupid  and  red-faced,  stared  a  moment  at 
the  coin,  then  pocketed  it  with  a  nod  and  grunt,  and  fell 


Through  Darkness  to  Light        373 

to  tying  Dangeau's  arms.  At  the  touch  of  the  cord  an 
exclamation  escaped  him,  and  it  was  at  this  moment 
that  Aline,  roused  from  her  state  of  abstraction  by  some- 
thing in  the  voice  behind  her,  turned  her  head  and  saw 
him. 

They  were  so  close  together  that  her  movement 
brought  them  into  contact,  and  at  the  touch,  and  as  their 
eyes  met,  anguish  was  blotted  out,  and  for  one  wonderful 
instant  they  leaned  together  whilst  each  heart  felt  the 
other's  throb. 

''My  heart!"  he  said,  and  then  before  either  could 
speak  again  they  were  being  pushed  forward  towards 
the  open  door. 

The  last  tumbril  waited;  Dangeau  was  thrust  into 
it,  roughly  enough,  and  as  he  pitched  forward  he  saw 
that  Aline  behind  him  had  stumbled,  and  would  have 
fallen  but  for  fat  Jean's  arm  about  her  waist.  She 
shrank  a  little,  and  the  fellow  gave  a  stupid  laugh. 

"What,  have  you  never  had  a  man's  arm  round  you 
before?"  he  said  loudly,  and  gave  her  a  push  that  sent 
her  swaying  against  Dangeau's  shoulder.  The  knot 
of  idlers  about  the  door  broke  into  coarse  jesting,  and 
the  bound  man's  hands  writhed  against  his  bonds  until 
the  cords  cut  deep  into  the  flesh  of  his  wrist,  and  the 
blood  oozed  against  the  twisted  rope. 

Aline  leaned  nearer.  She  was  conscious  only  that 
here  was  rest.  Since  Mile  Ange  died  of  the  prison 
fever  two  days  ago,  she  had  not  slept  or  wept.  She 
had  thought  perhaps  she  might  die  too,  and  be  saved 
the  knife,  but  now  nothing  mattered  any  more.  He  was 
here;  he  loved  her.  They  would  die  together.  God 
was  very  good. 

His  voice  sounded  from  far,  far  away. 

"I  thought  you  safe;  I  thought  you  at  Rancy,  oh, 


374       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

God!"  and  she  roused  a  little  to  the  agony  in  his  tone, 
and  looked  at  him  with  those  clear  eyes  of  hers. 
Through  all  the  dreamlike  strangeness  she  felt  still 
the  woman's  impulse  to  comfort  the  beloved. 

"God,  who  holds  us  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand,  knows 
that  we  are  safe,"  she  said,  and  at  that  he  groaned 
**Safe!"  so  that  she  fought  against  the  weariness  that 
made  her  long  just  to  put  her  head  upon  his  shoulder 
and  be  at  peace. 

"There  was  too  much  between  us, "  she  said  very  low. 
"We  could  not  be  together  here,  but  we  could  not  be 
happy  apart.  I  do  not  think  God  will  take  us  away 
from  one  another.  It  is  better  like  this,  my  dear! — it 
is  better." 

Her  voice  fell  on  a  low,  contented  note,  and  he  felt 
her  lean  more  closely  yet.  An  agony  of  rebellion  rent 
his  very  soul.  To  love  one  woman  only,  to  renounce 
her,  to  find  her  after  long  months  of  pain,  to  hear  her 
say  what  he  had  hoped  for  only  in  his  dreams,  and 
then  to  know  that  he  must  watch  her  die.  What 
vision  of  Paradise  could  blot  this  torture  out?  Power- 
less, powerless,  powerless !  In  the  height  of  his  strength, 
and  not  able  even  to  strike  down  the  brute  whose  coarse 
hand  touched  her,  and  that  other  brute  who  would 
presently  butcher  her  before  his  very  eyes. 

Then,  whilst  his  straining  senses  reeled,  he  felt  a  jolt 
and  the  cart  stopped.  All  about  them  surged  an 
excited  crowd. 

There  was  a  confused  noise,  women  screamed.  One 
high,  clear  voice  called  out,  "Murderers!  Assassins!" 
and  the  crowd  took  up  the  cry  with  angry  insistence. 

"See  the  old  man!  and  the  girl!  ma  foi,  she  has  an 
angel's  face.     Is  the  guillotine  to  eat  up  every  one?" 

The  muttering  rose  to  a  growl,  and  the  growl  to  a 


Through  Darkness  to  Light         375 

roar.  To  and  fro  surged  the  growing  crowd,  the  horses 
began  to  back,  the  car  tilted.  Dangeau  looked  round 
him,  his  heart  beating  to  suffocation,  but  Aline  appeared 
neither  to  know  nor  care  what  passed.  For  her  the 
world  was  empty  save  for  they  two,  and  for  them  the 
gate  of  Heaven  stood  wide.  She  heard  the  song  of 
the  morning  stars;  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  glory 
unutterable,  unthinkable. 

As  the  shouting  grew,  the  driver  of  their  cart  cast 
anxious  glances  over  his  shoulder.  All  at  once  he  stood 
up,  waving  his  red  cap,  calling,  gesticulating. 

A  cry  went  up,  "The  gendarmerie,  Henriot!  Henriot 
and  the  gendarmes!"  and  the  press  was  driven  apart  by 
the  charge  of  armed  horsemen.  At  their  head  rode 
Henriot,  just  freed  from  prison,  flushed  with  strong 
drink,  savage  with  his  own  impending  doom. 

The  crowd  scattered,  but  a  man  sprang  for  an  instant 
to  the  wheels  of  the  cart,  and  whispered  one  swift 
sentence  in  Dangeau's  ear : 

"Robespierre  falls;  nothing  can  save  him." 

It  was  Goyot  in  a  workman's  blouse,  and  as  he 
dropped  off  again  Dangeau  made  curt  answer. 

"In  time  for  France,  if  not  for  me.  Good-bye,  my 
friend,"  and  then  Goyot  was  gone  and  the  lumbering 
wheels  rolled  on. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  cart,  the  Abbe  Delacroix 
prayed  audibly,  and  the  smooth  Latin  made  a  familiar 
cadence,  like  running  water  heard  in  childhood,  and  kept 
in  some  secret  cell  of  the  memory.  Beside  the  priest 
sat  old  General  de  Loiserolles,  grey  and  soldierly,  hug- 
ging the  thought  that  he  had  saved  his  boy ;  how  entirely 
he  was  not  to  know.  Answering  his  son's  name,  leaving 
that  son  sleeping,  he  was  giving  him,  not  the  doubtful 
reprieve  of  a  day,  but  all  the  years  of  his  natural  life. 


37^       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

since  young  De  Loiserolles  was  amongst  those  set  free  by 
the  death  of  Robespierre. 

As  the  cart  stopped  by  the  scaffold  foot,  he  crossed 
himself,  and  followed  the  Abb^  to  the  axe,  with  a  simple 
dignity  that  drew  a  strange  murmur  from  the  crowd. 
For  the  heart  of  Paris  was  melting  fast,  and  the  bloodshed 
was  become  a  weariness.  Prisoner  after  prisoner  went 
up  the  steps,  and  after  each  dull  thud  announced  the 
fallen  axe,  that  long  ominous  "  ah  "  of  the  crowd  went  up. 

Dangeau  and  Aline  were  the  last,  and  when  they 
came  to  the  steps  he  moved  to  go  before  her,  then 
cursed  himself  for  a  coward,  and  stood  aside  to  let  her 
pass.  She  looked  sweetly  at  him  for  a  moment  and 
passed  on,  climbing  with  feet  that  never  faltered.  She 
did  not  note  the  splashed  and  slippery  boards,  nor 
Sanson  and  his  assistants  all  grimed  and  daubed  from 
their  butcher's  work,  but  her  eye  was  caught  by  the  sea 
of  upturned  faces,  all  white,  all  eyeing  her,  and  her  head 
turned  giddy.  Then  some  one  touched  her,  held  her, 
pulled  away  the  kerchief  at  her  breast,  and  as  the  sun 
struck  hot  upon  her  uncovered  shoulders,  a  burning 
blush  rose  to  her  very  brow,  and  the  dream  in  which 
she  had  walked  was  gone.  Her  brain  reeled  with  the 
awakening,  heaven  clouded,  and  the  stars  were  lost. 
She  was  aware  only  of  Sanson's  hot  hand  at  her  throat, 
and  all  those  eyes  astare  to  see  her  death. 

The  hand  pushed  her,  her  foot  felt  the  slime  of  blood 
beneath  it,  she  saw  the  dripping  knife,  and  all  at  once 
she  felt  herself  naked  to  the  abyss.  In  Sanson's  grip 
she  turned  wide  terror-stricken  eyes  on  Dangeau,  making 
a  little,  piteous,  instinctive  movement  towards  him,  her 
protector,  and  at  that  and  his  own  impotence  he  felt 
each  pulse  in  his  strong  body  thud  like  a  hammered 
drum,  and  with  one  last  violent  effort  of  the  will  he 


Through  Darkness  to  Light         377 

wrenched  his  eyelids  down,  lest  he  should  look  upon  the 
end.  All  through  the  journey  there  had  been  as  it  were 
a  sword  in  his  heart,  but  at  her  look  and  gesture — her 
frightened  look,  her  imploring  gesture — the  sword  was 
turned  and  still  he  was  alive,  alive  to  watch  her  die. 
In  those  moments  his  soul  left  time  and  space,  and  hung 
a  tortured  point,  infinitely  lonely,  infinitely  agonised,  in 
some  illimitable  region  of  never-ending  pain.  There  was 
no  past,  no  future,  only  Eternity  and  his  undying  soul 
in  anguish.  The  thousand  years  were  as  a  day,  and  the 
day  as  a  thousand  years.  There  was  no  beginning  and 
no  end.     O  God,  no  end! 

He  did  not  hear  the  crowd  stir  a  little,  and  drift 
hither  and  thither  as  it  was  pressed  upon  from  one  side ; 
he  did  not  see  the  gendarmes  press  against  the  drift, 
only  to  be  driven  back  again,  hustled,  surrounded  so 
that  their  horses  were  too  hampered  to  answer  to 
the  spur.  Suddenly  a  woman  went  down  screaming 
under  the  horses*  feet,  and  on  the  instant  the  crowd 
flamed  into  fury  before  the  agonised  shriek  had  died 
away.  In  a  moment  all  was  a  seething,  shouting, 
cursing  welter  of  struggling  humanity.  The  noise  of  it 
reached  even  Dangeau's  stunned  brain,  and  he  said 
within  himself,  "It  is  over.  She  is  dead,"  and  opened 
his  eyes. 

The  scaffold  stood  like  an  island  in  a  sea  grown 
suddenly  wild  with  tempest,  and  even  as  he  looked,  the 
human  waves  of  it  broke  in  a  fierce  swirl  which  welled 
up  and  overflowed  it  on  every  side. 

Sanson,  his  hand  on  the  machinery,  was  whirled  aside, 
jostled,  pushed,  cursed.  A  fat  woman,  with  bare, 
mottled  arms,  Heaven  knows  how  she  came  on  the 
platform,  dealt  him  a  resounding  smack  on  the  face, 
and  shrieked  voluble  abuse,  which  was  freely  echoed. 


378       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

Dangeau  was  surrounded,  embraced,  cheered,  lifted 
off  his  feet,  the  cord  that  bound  his  arms  slashed  through, 
and  of  a  sudden  Goyot  had  him  round  the  neck,  and 
he  found  voice  and  clamoured  Aline 's  name.  The  little 
surgeon,  after  one  glance  at  his  wild  eyes,  pushed  with 
him  through  the  surging  press;  they  had  to  fight  their 
way,  and  the  place  was  slippery,  but  they  were  through 
at  last,  through  and  down  on  their  knees  by  the  woman 
who  lay  bound  beneath  the  knife  that  Sanson's  hand 
was  freeing  when  the  tumtdt  caught  him.  A  dozen 
hands  snatched  her  back  again  now,  the  cords  were  cut, 
and  Dangeau's  shaking  Voice  called  in  her  ears,  called 
loudly,  and  in  vain. 

"Air,  give  her  air  and  room,"  he  cried,  and  some 
pushed  forwards  and  others  back.  The  fat  woman  took 
the  girl's  head  upon  her  lap,  whilst  tears  rained  down 
her  crimson  cheeks. 

"Eh,  the  poor  pretty  one,"  she  sobbed  hysterically, 
and  pulled  off  her  own  ample  kerchief  to  cover  Aline's 
thin  bosom.  Dangeau  leaned  over  her  calling,  calling 
still,  unaware  of  Goyot  at  his  side,  and  of  Goyot's  voice 
saying  insistently,  "Tiens,  my  friend,  that  was  a  near 
shave,  eh?" 

"My  wife,"  he  muttered,  "my  wife — my  wife  is 
dead,"  and  with  that  he  gazed  round  wildly,  cried 
"No,  no!"  in  a  sharp  voice,  and  fell  to  calling  her 
again. 

Goyot  knelt  on  the  reeking  boards,  caught  the  frail 
wrist  in  that  brown  skilful  hand  of  his,  shifted  his 
grasp  once,  twice,  a  third  time,  shook  his  head,  and  took 
another  grip.  "No,  she  's  alive,"  he  said  at  last,  and 
had  to  say  it  more  than  once,  for  Dangeau  took  no 
heed. 

"Aline!    Aline!    Aline!"    he  called  in  hoarse,  trem- 


Through  Darkness  to  Light        379 

bling  tones,  and  Goyot  dropped  the  girl's  wrist  and  took 
him  harshly  by  the  shoulder. 

"Rouse,  man,  rouse!"  he  cried.  "She's  alive.  I  tell 
you.  I  swear  it.  For  the  love  of  Heaven,  wake  up, 
and  help  me  to  get  her  away.  It 's  touch  and  go  for  all 
of  us  these  next  few  hours.  At  any  moment  Henriot 
may  have  the  upper  hand,  and  half  an  hour  would  do 
our  business,  with  this  pretty  toy  so  handy."  He 
grimaced  at  the  red  axe  above  them,  "Come,  Dangeau, 
play  the  man!" 

Dangeau  stared  at  him. 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  he  asked  irritably. 

Goyot  pressed  his  shoulder  with  a  firm  hand. 

"Lift  your  wife,  and  bring  her  along  after  me.  Can 
you  manage?     She  looks  light  enough." 

It  was  no  easy  matter  to  come  through  the  excited 
crowd,  but  Dangeau's  height  told,  and  with  Aline's  head 
against  his  shoulder  he  pushed  doggedly  in  the  wake 
of  Goyot,  who  made  his  way  through  the  press  with  a 
wonderful  agility.  Down  the  steps  now,  and  inch  by 
inch  forward  through  the  jostling  excited  people.  Up  a 
by  way  at  last,  and  then  sharp  to  the  left  where  a  car- 
riage waited,  and  with  that  Goyot  gave  a^  gasp  of 
relief,  and  mopped  a  dripping  brow. 

"Eh,  mon  Dieu!"  he  said;  "get  in,  get  in!" 

The  carriage  had  mouldy  straw  on  the  floor,  and  the 
musty  odour  of  it  mounted  in  the  hot  air. 

Dangeau  complained  of  it  sharply. 

"A  devil  of  a  smell,  this,  Goyot!"  and  the  little 
surgeon  fixed  him  with  keen,  watchful  eyes,  as  he 
nodded  acquiescence. 

What  house  they  came  to,  or  how  they  came  to  it, 
Dangeau  knew  no  more  than  his  unconscious  wife.  She 
lay  across  his  breast,  white  and  still  as  the  dead,  and 


380       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

when  he  laid  her  down  on  the  bed  in  the  upper  room 
they  reached  at  last,  she  fell  limply  from  his  grasp,  and 
he  turned  to  Goyot  with  a  groan. 

A  soft,  white-haired  woman,  dark-eyed  and  placid, — 
afterwards  he  knew  her  for  Goyot's  housekeeper, — tried 
to  turn  him  out  of  the  room,  but  he  would  go  no  farther 
than  the  window,  where  he  sat  staring,  staring  at  the 
houses  across  the  way,  watching  them  darken  in  the 
gathering  dusk,  and  mechanically  counting  the  lights 
that  presently  sprang  into  view. 

Behind  him  Marie  Carlier  came  and  went,  at  Goyot's 
shortly  worded  orders,  until  at  last  Dangeau's  straining 
ears  caught  the  sound  of  a  faint,  fluttering  sigh.  He 
turned  then,  the  lights  in  the  room  dancing  before  his 
burning  eyes.  For  a  moment  the  room  seemed  full  of 
the  small  tongues  of  flame,  and  then  beyond  them  he 
saw  his  wife's  eyes  open  again,  whilst  her  hand  moved 
in  feeble  protest  against  the  draught  which  Goyot 
himself  was  holding  to  her  lips. 

Dangeau  got  up,  stood  a  moment  gazing,  and  then 
stumbled  from  the  room  and  broke  into  heavy  sobbing. 
Presently  Goyot  brought  him  something  in  a  glass, 
which  he  drank  obediently. 

"Now  you  will  sleep,"  said  the  little  man  in  cheerful 
accents,  and  sleep  he  did,  and  never  stirred  until  the 
high  sun  struck  across  his  face  and  waked  him  to  France's 
new  day,  and  his. 

For  in  that  night  fell  Robespierre,  cast  down  by  the 
Convention  he  had  dominated  so  long.  The  dawn  that 
found  him  shattered,  praying  for  the  death  he  had 
vainly  sought,  awakened  Paris  from  the  long  nightmare 
which  had  been  the  marriage  gift  of  her  nuptials  with 
this  incubus. 

At  fovu"  o'clock  on  the  afternoon  of  the  loth  Thermidor, 


Through  Darkness  to  Light         381 

Robespierre's  head  fell  under  the  bloody  axe  of  the 
Terror,  and  with  his  last  gasp  the  life  went  out  of  the 
greatest  tyranny  of  modern  times. 

When  Goyot  came  home  with  the  news,  Dangeau's 
face  flamed,  and  he  put  his  hand  before  his  eyes  for  a 
moment. 

Then  he  went  up  to  Aline.  She  had  lain  in  a  deep 
sleep  for  many,  many  hours,  but  towards  the  afternoon 
she  had  wakened,  taken  food,  and  dressed  herself,  all  in 
a  strange,  mechanical  fashion.  She  was  neither  to  be 
gainsaid  nor  persuaded,  and  Dangeau,  reasonable  once 
more,  had  left  her  to  the  kind  and  unexciting  ministra- 
tions of  Marie  Carlier.  Now  he  could  keep  away  no 
longer;  Goyot  followed  him  and  the  housekeeper  met 
them  by  the  door. 

"She  is  strange.  Monsieur,"  she  whispered. 

"She  has  not  roused  at  all.^^"  inquired  Goyot  rather 
anxiously. 

Marie  shook  her  head. 

"She  just  sits  and  stares  at  the  sky.  God  knows 
what  she  sees  there,  poor  lamb.     If  she  would  weep '* 

"Just  so,  just  so,"  Goyot  nodded  once  or  twice. 
Then  he  turned  a  penetrating  look  on  Dangeau. 

"Ha,  you  are  all  right  again.  A  near  thing,  my 
friend,  eh?     Small  wonder  you  were  upset  by  it. " 

"Oh,  I!"  said  Dangeau,  with  an  impatient  gesture. 
"  It  is  my  wife  we  are  speaking  of. " 

"Yes,  yes,  of  course — a  little  patience,  my  dear 
Dangeau — yes,  your  wife.  Marie  here,  without  being 
scientific,  is  a  sensible  woman,  and  it 's  a  wonderful 
thing  how  common-sense  comes  to  the  same  conclusions 
as  science.  A  fascinating  subject  that,  but,  as  you  are 
about  to  observe,  this  is  not  the  time  to  pursue  it. 
What  I  mean  to  say  is,  that  your  wife  is  suffering  from 


382       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

severe  shock;  her  brain  is  overcharged,  and  Marie  is 
quite  right  when  she  suggests  that  tears  would  reHeve 
it.  Now,  my  good  Dangeau,  do  you  think  you  can  make 
your  wife  cry?" 

"I  don't  know — I  must  go  to  her." 

"Well,  well,  go.  Don't  excite  her,  but — dear  me, 
Marie,  how  impatient  people  are.  When  one  has  saved 
a  man's  life,  he  might  at  least  let  one  finish  a  sentence, 
instead  of  breaking  away  in  the  middle  of  it.  Get  me 
something  to  eat,  for,  parbleu,  I  've  earned  it. " 

Dangeau  had  closed  the  door,  and  stood  looking  at 
his  wife. 

"Aline,"  he  said,  "have  they  told  you?  We  are  safe 
— Robespierre  is  dead. " 

Then  he  threw  back  his  head,  took  a  long,  deep 
breath,  and  cried: 

"It  is  new  life — new  life  for  France,  new  work  for 
those  who  love  her — new  life  for  us — for  us.  Aline." 

Aline  stood  by  the  window,  very  still.  At  the  sound 
of  Dangeau's  voice  she  turned  her  head.  He  saw  that 
she  was  smiling,  and  his  heart  contracted  as  he  looked 
at  her. 

Death  had  come  so  close  to  her,  so  very  close,  that  it 
seemed  to  him  the  shadow  of  it  lay  cold  and  still  above 
that  strange  unchanging  smile;  and  he  called  to  her 
abruptly,  with  a  rough  tenderness. 

"Aline!  Aline!" 

She  looked  up  then,  and  he  saw  then  the  same  smile 
lie  deep  within  her  eyes.  Unfathomably  peaceful  they 
were,  but  not  with  the  peace  of  the  living. 

"Won't  you  come  to  me,  my  dear,"  he  said  gently, 
and  with  the  simplicity  he  would  have  used  to  a  child. 

A  little  shiver  just  stirred  the  stillness  of  her  form, 
and  she  came  slowly,  very  slowly,   across  the  room, 


Through  Darkness  to  Light         383 

and  then  stood  waiting,  and  with  a  sudden  passion 
Dangeau  laid  both  hands  upon  her  shoulders  insistently, 
heavily. 

He  wondered  had  she  lost  the  memory  of  the  last  time 
he  had  touched  and  held  her  thus.  Then  he  had  fought 
with  pride  and  been  defeated.  Now  he  must  fight  again, 
fight  for  her  very  soul  and  reason,  and  this  time  he  must 
win,  or  the  whole  world  would  be  lost.  He  paused, 
gathering  all  the  forces  of  his  soiil,  then  looked  at  her 
with  passionate  uneasiness. 

If  she  would  tremble,  if  she  would  even  shrink  from 
him — anything  but  that  calm  which  was  there,  and 
shone  serenely  fixed,  like  the  smile  upon  the  faces  of  the 
dead. 

It  hinted  of  the  final  secret  known. 

"Mon  Dieu!  Aline,  don't  look  like  that!"  he  cried, 
and  in  strong  protest  his  arms  slipped  lower,  and  drew 
her  close  to  his  heart  that  beat,  and  beat,  as  if  it  would 
supply  the  life  hers  lacked.  She  came  passively  at 
his  touch,  and  stood  in  his  embrace  unresisting  and 
unresponsive. 

Remembering  how  she  had  flushed  at  a  look  and 
quivered  at  a  touch,  his  fears  redoubled,  and  he  caught 
her  close,  and  closer,  kissing  her,  at  first  gently,  but  in 
the  end  with  all  the  force  of  a  passion  so  long  restrained. 
For  now  at  last  the  dam  was  down,  and  they  stood  to- 
gether in  love's  full  flowing  tide. 

When  he  drew  back,  the  smile  was  gone,  and  the  lips 
that  it  had  left  trembled  piteously,  as  her  colour  came 
and  went  to  each  quickened  breath. 

"Aline,"  he  said,  very  low,  "Aline,  my  heart!  It  is 
new  life — new  life  together. " 

She  pushed  him  back  a  pace  then,  and  raised  her  eyes 
with  a  look  he  never  forgot.     The  peace  had  left  them 


384       A  Marriage  Under  the  Terror 

now,  and  they  were  troubled  to  the  depths,  and  brimmed 
with  tears.  Her  lips  quivered  more  and  more,  the  breath 
came  from  them  in  a  great  sob,  and  suddenly  she  fell 
upon  his  breast  in  a  passion  of  weeping. 


THE   END 


•,    -MCI, 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

Re„ewed°b.SlL  aVe  subject  to  immed^ate^ecall_ 


REC'D  UD 


[^jm     OCT  13  76 


AUG 


MAR  2  5 '65 -2  PM 


EEETTOrWTO' 


days  prior  toduedate.  


DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 


